HPSlashFics - Privileges

Harry tested the swing and balance of his blade, disguising his nervousness with activity. Behind him, he could hear the whispers of Ron, Hermione, and Neville.

"I've heard the King is attending today! What if Harry wins?" Neville's voice was hushed and nervous.

"But what if the King requests an audience?" Neville continued. "What if he finds out Harry's patents are forged? What if he discovers Harry is not really of noble birth?"

Harry heard a blow and a yelp. "No one is going to find out unless someone keeps blathering on about it!" Hermione snarled. "Now stop flapping your maw and help me with his shield. I want it to gleam."

Harry sheathed his sword and looked out upon the festivities. Tournaments always drew the best—and worst—of society's denizens. He grimaced as he wondered which group he would fit into. His current pretence as a knight of the highest nobility was nothing more than a sham. In reality, Harry had been a lowly squire until six months ago, on one fateful day when his master's charger had shied at a serpent. The great knight had fallen and cracked his helmetless head upon a stone. He had bled to death before Harry's eyes.

After half a day of panic, Harry had convinced his friends to undertake a dangerous scheme. Harry had taken up his master's armour and the mantle of his nobility. The deception was made easier when they stumbled across Neville Longbottom. The scribe had travelled with an unlucky party that had gotten themselves slaughtered by bandits.

Neville had survived due to the thickness of his skull and the haste of the bandits that had left him for dead. In gratitude for the hot food, clothing, and company, Neville had created false papers for Harry, who had immediately embarked on a tour of the countryside, attending tournaments and making a name for himself. It was, of course, a false name, as he could use neither his own nor his former master's name.

Harry mounted Dobby, the flighty stallion whose skittishness had killed his predecessor. He was a very strong mount, albeit he had a rather ugly face and floppy ears. As long as Harry paid attention he found no fault with the horse. He took up his shield and rode to his place in line. Ron's bellowing voice announced him: Sir James Godric Blackfell of Byzantium! He had chosen the name in honour of his father, a noble saint, and his godfather. The selection of Byzantium as a homeland was calculated—it would take months to send away for confirmation of Harry's noble birth, should anyone care to do so.

Harry rode before the king and dipped his lance in salute. King Lucius was an icy-looking man, haughty of feature with long silvery hair and cold eyes. His face revealed nothing.

Harry's gaze was drawn to the king's right hand, where a petulant-looking face glared at him. The fellow was obviously one of the royal princes, judging by his startling resemblance to King Lucius, as well as the crown of twisted silver that topped his platinum hair.

The prince made a comment, obviously derisive, and the king silenced him with a quelling look and a sharp word. Harry moved on to make way for the presentation of the next combatant, but the prince's face stayed with him. There was something indefinable in the gaze, something that defied the spoilt exterior.

Harry rubbed sweet-scented oil over his bruised chest. The thrill of victory was always tempered by the pain of battle. Hermione lamented the state of his armour while Ron and Neville toasted Harry's victory with several flagons of ale.

A head popped into their tent. "Sir James? His Majesty, the King, requests your presence."

When the squire disappeared, Harry glanced at his pseudo-servants. Neville's face was plainly terrified and Ron looked shocked.

Hermione clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll be fine, Harry. I'm sure he just wants to congratulate you on your victory."

"The money was congratulations enough," Ron muttered. Harry tended to agree. An audience with King Lucius probably did not bode well.

"Stay alert," he said and quickly tugged on his finest tunic and dragged wet fingers through his unruly black hair. He wished there had been time to bathe. "If you see soldiers coming this way… run."

Harry slung on a red cape and made his way briskly to the royal tent. He cooled his heels outside until the king's servants admitted him. Rather than sitting on the ornate throne in the centre of the tent, the king sat to one side on a cushioned divan and drank from a jewelled flagon.

Harry was confused by the monarch's congenial attitude, but he took the cup and took a careful sip. It would not do to annoy the man. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he said simply.

"You are a careful fellow. And quite skilled. You must have seen many things, hailing from Byzantium."

Harry relaxed slightly, thinking he merely sought news or tales from far away. "Indeed, Your Majesty." It was true enough; Harry's former master had been relentlessly footloose. Harry had seen much of the wide world, from Ireland to Greece, although he had never actually made it all the way to Byzantium.

King Lucius laughed. "You will not reveal anything easily, will you? That is an excellent quality, in my opinion. Sir James, I would like to ask a favour of you."

Harry had been about to drink. Thankfully, he had not or he might have choked. "A… a favour?" He tried not to sound too suspicious, but kings did not ask favours. Kings gave orders.

Harry's eyes widened as he recalled the blond prince. "But… we're of an age. Would not an older man be a wiser choice?" Harry blanched when he realized he had just called the king's wisdom into question.

The monarch smiled and let his gaffe slip by without comment. "I have my reasons for not sending Draco to a more experienced knight, in part because I do not wish him mistreated. He is not as hardened as my other sons, being third in line, and his tongue is guaranteed to get him into trouble. As a younger man, you may have more patience with his outbursts."

"I… I don't know what to say, Your Majesty." In truth, everything in Harry was screaming to refuse, but he could think of no graceful way out.

"There will be compensation, of course," King Lucius went on. "There is a small town near Bristol that contains a well-maintained keep. The local villagers are occasionally plagued by raiders travelling upriver. Your responsibility, of course, will be to them as well as to my son."

Harry swallowed hard. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I accept the honour, of course."

"Excellent. Henceforth, you shall be known as Sir James Blackfell, Viscount of Tensbury."

Harry bowed low, torn between the thrill of having a title, lands, and a home… and stark raving terror at having the charge of a royal prince.

"I will draw up the paperwork tomorrow and one of my men will deliver you to your new home. I shall send Draco along in a few days' time." With that, King Lucius turned away and Harry made his salutations and departed.

Draco was livid. He was to be a squire. A squire! And no ordinary squire, no, he was to be squire to none other than Sir James Blackfell, an arrogant arse if Draco had ever seen one. He was surely an idiot to have survived so many tournaments. In fact, Draco thought all knights that competed in tournaments were completely addled. You would have to be the largest sort of imbecile to fling yourself at full speed toward a lance charging toward you borne by a mailed knight and a destrier.

Draco glared. Other than that, he knew nothing about Sir James Blackfell. He had seen him at the tournament, of course, just another swaggering knight in armour riding a lop-eared horse and covered head to toe in mail. Draco had a mental picture of Sir James already prepared. He would be a grizzled war veteran, of course, with long iron-grey hair and steely eyes. His fists would be the size of hams and he would doubtless be illiterate.

An image of the crusty Sir James tearing at a haunch of meat with snaggled teeth came to Draco and he shuddered. To be subservient to one such as that would be the worst possible torture. Well, perhaps not the worst possible torture. That would have been to give in to his mother's pleading and join the priesthood. She had harangued Draco mercilessly for the past decade to give up warlike thoughts and take up the cloth. Draco thought he might prefer to slit his own throat. Not that his faith could be called to question—he had beliefs in plenty. It was merely his liking for a decent bed, an occasional bath, and edible food that swayed him toward a more secular life.

As they topped a rise, the Keep of Tensbury appeared in the distance. Draco suppressed a sneer. The Keep was a single stone tower and hovered over a collection of hovels that could barely call itself a village. Once again, he wondered if his father had finally reached the idiocy of old age, even though he appeared to be a man in his prime.

Draco thought about putting his heels to his horse and making a break for it a dozen times as the edifice neared, but he decided it would be unseemly, and the good Lord knew Malfoys were never unseemly. Instead he set his features into a placid mask and rode resolutely through the gates that opened in the tall stone wall. At least it is not completely indefensible, he thought derisively.

Several people stood in the small courtyard, ostensibly to greet him. His eyes flitted over them, dismissing them one by one. There was a tall, gangly ginger-haired man—obviously a servant; and a bushy-haired woman with cold eyes—female; and a vapid-looking round-faced man whose eyes seemed permanently fixed on the ground—minion. Draco's gaze finally reached a black-haired man with brilliant green eyes and stern features. Draco nearly discarded him as a servant, but something in the stare drew him. For one thing, he did not look away, but met Draco's eyes boldly. Draco frowned. Perhaps he was the Castellan?

"Greetings, Your Royal Highness," the man said politely. "I welcome you to Tensbury. I am Sir James Blackfell."

It took a moment for Draco to process the fact that the man was not joking. He was the Viscount of Tensbury?

"If you care to dismount, my men will tend to your horses." The man turned to Draco's escort and spoke to the lead knight. "You are welcome to spend the night, of course. A meal is being prepared as we speak."

The leader of Draco's guard nodded. "Thank you, Sir Blackfell. We accept, although we must be off before dawn. His Majesty, the king, is sending a garrison for you. They should arrive tomorrow."

Draco scowled as he dismounted. This was his last official day as a royal prince. Tomorrow he would be considered no more than a lowly squire, in servitude to this… boy. He and the others entered the castle, which was just as dark and dusty as Draco had feared. The place was as barren as one of the bloody caverns the filthy Celts inhabited. There were not even tapestries adorning the walls. Luckily it was summer or he would likely freeze to death. He made a vow to write to his father about providing adequate accommodations.

Supper was a boring affair, reminding Draco yet again how much he despised the country. The food was barely tolerable, the wine was appalling, and the only entertainment was provided by Draco's new master, who seemed content to treat Draco with the deference to which his rank entitled him.

The seat at the head of the table had been left open, for reasons known only to the Viscount. Draco sat to the right of the empty seat and Lord Tensbury sat directly across from him. Arrayed next to the black-haired knight sat the gangly redhead, the mousy fellow, and—shockingly—the woman.

Draco's men sat on his side of the long table and seemed just as puzzled by the seating arrangement. The captain of Draco's guard kept up a remarkable conversation with Lord Tensbury, even slipping into Spanish at one point and prattling on about Barcelona and Madrid.

Draco smouldered with annoyance. So the prat was well-travelled and obviously intelligent. He was still not worthy to be considered Draco's master. Draco had an excellent time interrupting them now and again to point out inferiorities in Castle Tensbury, complain about the meal, disparage all things Spanish, and finally comment about the uncouth practice of allowing a female commoner to dine at the same table with the men folk—should she not be serving them?

At that, Sir Blackfell's green eyes flashed and he leaned across the table to speak in a conspiratorial manner that only Draco could hear.

"Enjoy your evening, Prince Draco," he said. "For tomorrow your guardsmen will be gone and you will lose the lustre of your title and become nothing more than my lowly squire, as per your father's instructions."

Draco sat back with a start. Was that a threat? The tone had been pleasant enough, but those eyes… well, they had an intensity that Draco found disturbing. He looked away, ostensibly dismissing the man as unworthy of notice, but in truth he had no idea how to respond.

He glanced at his soldiers, suddenly regretting their departure. Draco's father had planed well. Tomorrow the men would leave and a new contingent would arrive to assist Sir Blackfell in bringing order to his lands. None of them knew Draco, nor would they suspect his true identity.

When the interminable meal ended, the Viscount turned to Draco. "Your Highness? If you will accompany me to your new quarters? Captain, you and your men are free to bed down in the Hall tonight."

The guardsmen thanked him and Draco reluctantly followed the man up the spiral steps to the next level of the castle. A heavy wooden door opened to reveal a large chamber containing a huge bed and several large chests. A fire burned brightly against the outer wall and the chamber was pleasantly warm. The bed looked comfortable and warm and Draco realized he was exhausted after the long day.

"Tonight you may sleep in the bed," Sir Blackfell stated. "But tomorrow your pallet is there." He gestured to a small cot in one corner and Draco recoiled in horror. Certainly Blackfell was joking? He was a Prince of the Realm. Surely the man would not be crass enough to force Draco to endure such lowly accommodations?

Before Draco could demand clarification, the man lifted the lamp he carried and gave a half-hearted salute with it. "Goodnight, Prince Draco."

Harry stared down at the sleeping man in his bed. He was almost too beautiful to be mortal, with his blond hair spread out over the pillow and the shaft of moonlight dancing over his perfect features. His eyelashes were long and silvery, matching his delicate brows. Harry's eyes traced the curves of his lips; they were a perfect bow shape, nearly feminine, but not quite. The chiselled features that framed his lips were all male, even though pale and almost fey.

Prince Draco was gorgeous by anyone's standards. Harry sighed. It was almost a shame to wake him. The thought made him pause for only a moment before he upended the bucket of icy water over the head of the sleeping angel.

The prince sat up with a gasp of shock, sputtering water and flailing at the air.

"I'm an early riser," Harry commented. "I expect my squire to be awake before me and have a fire prepared in the hearth. You will also attend to my horse before seeking your breakfast."

He tossed the bucket aside and watched as the wet blond's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "Wha—? What? What is the meaning of this?" he demanded finally.

"I just told you," Harry said. "You will dress and see to my horse. Normally, you will assist me with my morning routine, but seeing that you chose to lie abed this morning I will find other duties for you."

Draco turned toward the shaft of light appearing through the window aperture. "But… it's still dark!"

"As I said, I am an early riser. It will be dawn in a couple of hours. By then I should have my daily schedule in order and I will be ready to attend to my usual business. Your clothing is on the bed. Your other things have been put away and will be returned to you upon the conclusion of our working relationship. You may break fast in the kitchen. I expect to see you downstairs within the next few minutes. Do not make me return for you." He forced an edge of steel into his voice that was not entirely feigned. He knew he would have to use a very strong hand or the prince would refuse to listen to a word he said.

Without waiting for a response, Harry turned and went out. He sat down at the long table in the Great Hall with a lantern and a stack of ledger books. The former Castellan had done a fair job of keeping the tallies and maintaining inventory, but Harry felt it necessary to go over everything and achieve an understanding of everything under his command. He was very good at pretending to be a knight, but he had never before had to run a household—or a demesne.

Every so often his eyes would stray to the wooden steps that led to the second level. He was not quite certain what he would do if his new squire chose to disobey.

~~ O ~~

Draco glared at the closed door that prevented him from hurling invectives. He was angry enough to throw things, but the sheer number of shocks had prevented him from focusing on one of them long enough to prepare an appropriate tirade. Attend to his horse? Break fast in the kitchen with the servants? Be downstairs?

Draco would have dragged the blankets back over his head and returned to slumber if both he and the bedding were not sodden. What sort of bastard awakened someone by dumping frigid water upon their head? The cretin had not even started a fire and the cold was already seeping into Draco's skin. He shivered as he put his feet on the ice-cold floor and hobbled quickly to the lambskin rug in the centre of the room.

At least his new master had left a burning lamp to light his way. Draco sneered as he went to his trunk, only to gape at it in astonishment. It had been fitted with a bright new lock. His second trunk had received the same treatment. Draco's anger nearly warmed him enough to storm downstairs and demand answers. What right did Lord Tensbury have to keep Draco from his own belongings?

He ignored the small voice in his head that reminded him of his new status as squire and counted Lord Tensbury lucky that Draco's sense of propriety kept him from stalking out clad only in a nightshirt. He rubbed his icy arms and then tore off the wet garment before turning his attention to the items on the bed.

His nose wrinkled when he held up the ugly brown hosen, the ugly tan braies, and the ugly brown tunic that had apparently been left for him. Did his status as a squire require that he wear the most hideous clothing in all of Britain? He was, however, freezing, and there was nothing else available in the room. Lord Tensbury apparently distrusted his underlings—the wardrobe was also tightly locked.

Draco dragged on the rough linen braies and then tugged the scratchy woollen hosen over the top. The tunic was nearly as horrible as the hosen, made only slightly more bearable when Draco discovered the linen undertunic that had fallen to the floor.

A pair of heavy leather shoes completed his outfit, along with a thick belt whose buckle was so stiff Draco needed nearly all his strength to fasten it. He glared at his image in the silvered glass as he dragged a comb through his damp hair. He looked like a bloody peasant.

He glanced at the door, suddenly anxious. Had he taken too long? Sir Blackfell had sounded quite serious. After the trick with the water, Draco was not certain he wanted to discover what else Lord Tensbury was capable of. He quickly yanked open the door and stalked downstairs.

~~ O ~~

Harry disguised his relief when the angry prince made his appearance. In truth, it had been quite a long time and Harry had been debating what to do when the door had opened upstairs.

His new squire looked less than pleased. In fact, he looked downright livid.

"What is the meaning of this, Sir Blackfell? Why have you locked up my possessions? Am I not allowed even to have decent clothing?" He tugged at the collar of his tunic and shifted uncomfortably. "This thing is going to give me a rash!"

"Draco," Harry said mildly. He watched as the pale brows nearly disappeared into the platinum hair. Apparently His Highness had never been addressed by his given name by an underling before. "Draco, you will address me as Master, or if you prefer, as Harry. You are dressed as befits a squire of this household. I will not have your status put under question, especially when I am under orders from King Lucius himself. You will conduct yourself appropriately and if you have issue with my commands you may take them up with your father."

"Wha—? Harry? I thought your name was James."

Harry shrugged and dropped his quill next to the inkwell. "I prefer Harry. Do you wish to eat, or do you prefer to see to my horse?"

Silver eyes flashed, but the irritated prince controlled himself with visible effort. "I will eat," he said simply.

Harry nodded and got to his feet. "I will show you around and introduce you to your duties." He led the way to the kitchen, secretly relieved that Prince Draco seemed willing to accept his situation for the moment. The moment was short lived.

"Porridge?" Draco asked in a horrified tone. "You expect me to eat porridge?" The wooden spoon scraped at the mushlike grain with a disdainful motion. The cook frowned and Harry shook his head slightly to quell her defensive ire. "Do I look like a bloody commoner?"

Harry snatched the bowl from Draco's hand and gave it back to the cook. "Sorry, Molly, my new squire doesn't seem to be hungry. I'm certain Ron will eat it when he rises. Come along, Draco. Let me show you to the stables."

Draco's pale cheeks flushed, but he seemed unwilling to engage in another tirade before the smirking servant. Before he changed his mind, Harry marched out the door and headed for the nearby wooden structure that housed the stable.

He didn't bother looking behind him to see if his new squire followed.

~~ O ~~

Draco was in a fine snit. He mentally composed a letter to his father as he stalked after his new master, Harry, and what kind of name was that for a nobleman? It sounded more like a moniker a hirsute peasant would wear.

Dear Father. I renounce my decision to become a squire in order to become a knight. If I must serve this uncouth barbarian you have chosen, then I prefer to join the priesthood as mother insists. I demand that you strip this horrible imbecile of his title immediately and toss him into the dungeon. Perhaps have him tortured. Draco's empty stomach rumbled and the porridge suddenly seemed more appetizing, although he would rather have died than request a second chance at it from the black-haired demon he followed. Yes. Definitely have him tortured. Your cruelly tormented son, Draco.

He entertained himself with thoughts of Lord Tensbury, or Sir Blackfell, or Harry, chained to a dungeon wall while Draco heated hot irons in a fire. Those brilliant green eyes would have a different intensity then, would they not? Oh yes, they would be intense with fear!

Draco snapped out of his vengeful reverie when he realized the green eyes of his fantasy watched him, although with none of the terror his dreams had conjured. Instead they seemed watchful.

"This is my horse, Dobby. You will feed him twice daily, curry and brush him after each outing, maintain his hooves and, of course, clean his stall." Draco nearly cringed with horror at the thought of cleaning up horse dung and he glared at the horse. It was quite the ugliest mount Draco had ever seen, with too-large, almost droopy ears. It looked more like an ass than a knight's charger. His master prattled on. "You may saddle him now, as I will be making a tour of the village this morning. I have chosen a mount for you, over there. His name is Kreacher. You will accompany me, so be sure to saddle Kreacher, as well. I will return shortly."

With that, Harry spun on a heel and walked from the stable, leaving Draco to gape after him. A noise caught his attention and he turned to see a redheaded boy leaning against a pitchfork. "Oi, ye the new squire?"

Draco nodded, unable to speak for fear he would start screaming in frustrated rage.

"Fred, we gots a new squire. Whaddya say we 'elp 'im out a bit?"

Another redhead sauntered from the shadows at the back of the barn and grinned at Draco, who blinked.

"Excellent idea, George," said the other.

Twins. Lovely. What was worse than a single ginger peasant? Two identical ginger peasants. His day was getting worse by the moment.

Harry returned to the castle long enough to roust Ron from bed in order to tell him that he planned to tour the village with Draco. Ron blinked at him with such incomprehension that Harry threw up his hands and went to awaken Hermione, instead. Of course, she was already awake and puttering around in the garden. By the time he located her, nearly half an hour had passed and Harry began to worry about leaving the blond alone in the stables. Hermione wished him well with a smirk and Harry bolted for the stable, slowing as he approached so it would not look as though he had hurried.

Draco was nowhere in sight. Dobby stood in his usual place in the stall, unsaddled, and Kreacher bared his teeth angrily as Harry walked past. Fuck. Had Draco fled? A banging sound drew Harry's attention to an alcove that held a rack of saddles. The thumping grew louder as Harry approached and he spied a blond head in the corner with a mixture of trepidation and relief.

The prince had been tied up with several lengths of rope. What looked to be a makeshift saddle had been strapped to his back. A horse's bridle had been wrapped around his head with the bit cruelly jammed between his teeth, bound tightly so that he could not dislodge it. His silver eyes glared balefully as Harry knelt to quickly untie him.

Draco spat the metal out with a snarl and gagged for a moment or two while Harry tore at the bonds around his arms and legs.

"Fucking ginger hellions!" Draco growled. "I'll have their bloody heads on a pike!" He thrashed angrily, yanking the ropes out of Harry's hands.

"I should not be tied at all, Tensbury! What kind of damned country faire are you running here? Are you in charge of this rabble or not?"

Thankfully, the knots parted and Harry stepped back to allow the angry prince room to shake free of his bonds. "The twins are young," Harry explained lamely. "And their father is often away. They have little guidance."

"That is no excuse. Where are they? I will thrash them to within an inch of their lives! I'll have them drawn and quartered!"

"Seeing how they have fled and my horse is yet unsaddled, their punishment will have to wait for another day. You will saddle your horse and accompany me. I have not the time to chase down youngsters to avenge your abused sensibilities. If anyone should be thrashed it should be you for neglecting your duties."

"Neglecting my duties?" Draco all but shrieked. Harry spun on a heel and snagged his saddle on the way out of the room. He was not in the mood for a tirade from his new squire and vowed to ignore the ranting blond.

As expected, Draco kept up an irate string of complaints, but he did manage to saddle Kreacher without much assistance, although Harry had to adjust the straps on the saddle in order to keep it from sliding off. Harry saddled Dobby himself, even though it had been some time since he had saddled his own steed. Ron generally took care of Harry's squire chores, more from a need for something to do than any sense of duty.

They departed without further incident and rode northwest, heading toward the village just out of sight from the castle. After riding for a short time, Harry reached into his saddle pack and pulled out a cloth-wrapped parcel. He handed it to Draco, who took it with a suspicious glare.

"Molly insisted I give that to you," Harry said and kneed Dobby forward. When he glanced back later, he was pleased to see the prince greedily devouring the last of the bread and cheese. He made a mental note to thank Molly later. Hopefully the sustenance would improve his squire's mood slightly.

Draco made a scoffing noise. "If you ask them what they need, they will drive you spare with requests. Better to ask what they can do for you."

Draco apparently took him seriously and said nothing more. Harry's brief moment of concern over Draco's riding skill had been quickly alleviated. Kreacher snorted and bucked frequently, but Draco's seat was sure his hand was firm on the reins. Harry was reluctantly impressed.

The village was quiet, not because of the early hour, but by reason of the harvest. Most of the residents were in the fields bringing in the crops.

"Very nice, Tensbury," Draco said as they dismounted. "You've brought us to a deserted village."

Harry let Dobby drink from the spring in the centre of town. The sun had risen fully as they rode and it seemed the day would turn out quite warm.

An old woman tottered out to meet them, surrounded by a veritable sea of children. The kids immediately swarmed around the horses, tempting fate by straying near Kreacher's angry hooves. Harry warned them away sharply.

"Don't fash yerself fer an old 'un like me, Sir Blackfell," she said and cackled. "And thank ye for the cloth."

Harry felt rather than saw Draco's disapproving stare, but he ignored it. When he had inherited the castle, he had discovered a huge storage room filled with fabric, leather, wool and assorted other goods, far too many to be of use to him and the other residents of the keep.

"I am glad you could put it to good use, Astoria." Harry's response was curtailed by a loud shout from the western track that led out of town. A teenaged lad pelted along the road. Dust rose from his feet with the speed of his gait. "Help!" he cried.

Harry hurried to meet him and the boy clutched at his arms with both hands, gasping wildly for breath. His eyes were terrified. "Lord… Lord Tensbury! Thanks be… oh praise the saints!"

Harry ran back to Dobby and leaped into the saddle. Without a word, he sent the horse galloping down the road. He glanced over and was glad to see Draco racing Kreacher next to him. The prince grinned. "We fight?" Draco yelled.

"Yes, we fight!" Harry bellowed back and then laughed. For some reason, he had expected the man to be somewhat squeamish in battle. He revised his opinion of the blond, slightly.

Harry had heard tales of the raiders from the villagers during his last visit. Apparently they would travel upriver by boat and steal anything they could grab—including young women. Harvest time was a favourite because they would snatch as many foodstuffs as they could carry.

The ride was thankfully short and several heavily-laden men were visible in the distance when Harry and Draco topped a rise that allowed them a view of the rolling farmland that bordered the river. A few peasants were trying to fight the bandits, armed only with harvesting tools or wooden staves. One of the peasants was down, bleeding heavily from a leg wound.

Harry counted quickly; there were ten raiders. For a moment he questioned the wisdom of charging into battle with only Prince Draco at his side, but there was no hesitation from his companion. Harry ran down the first bandit, who dropped his ill-gotten gains and pulled out a sword—too late, as Dobby's shoulder sent him to the ground. The second managed to bring up his sword and counter Harry's blow, but he could not duck Draco's. Harry did not pause to watch him fall as he charged after a third man.

The raider was quicker than the other two and took cover behind a tree while shouting orders. He seemed to want the others to band together and fight, but the farmers attacked with renewed vigour. Dobby reared as the man stabbed at him from behind the tree trunk.

A loud bellow drew Harry's attention as Dobby pranced sideways. Prince Draco threw himself from Kreacher with a roar and bowled over a raider. Harry gasped at him in disbelief. Had he gone mad? King Lucius would have Harry put to death if his idiot son died in an attack from simple reavers!

To Harry's relief, Draco leaped to his feet gracefully and skewered the man. Harry turned back to his own opponent just in time to parry a sword blow. From the corner of his eye, he saw another raider creeping up on Draco, unseen by the blond. Harry abandoned his assailant and spurred Dobby toward the prince.

Harry's heart was in his throat when he realized he would not reach Draco in time. He urged the horse faster while bellowing loudly at the prince. Miraculously, the blond turned as if warned by some sixth sense, since he seemed to be steadfastly ignoring Harry. The raider was almost upon him, but Draco twisted and deflected what would have been a killing strike. Harry watched in awe as the prince toyed with the man—for toying it most definitely was—until the raider turned and fled, pursued by the vengeful blond.

Harry galloped after him again and caught up to the panting prince just as he gave up the chase. Draco shook his sword after the fleeing reaver. "Coward!" he yelled.

Harry fetched Draco's horse and they pounded after the raiders, who had reached their boats and fled. Harry frowned as he watched them float away on the current. He had little doubt they would be back.

Draco was exhausted by the time they returned to the castle. Tensbury had insisted on chatting with every bloody peasant on the earth and then wasted valuable harvesting time asking their opinions on defence against the raiders. Draco had rolled his eyes and dozed off, although he had to admit that some of Tensbury's ideas were rather good. When the talks were concluded and the farmers had been prodded back to the fields where they belonged, Sir Blackfell finally headed for the castle. Draco wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a soft bed. Such was not to be.

"See to the horses," Tensbury said curtly when they reached the stables. "I'll expect them fed and groomed properly, so feel free to seek assistance from one of the boys. Do not, however, force them to perform the task for you." Sir Blackfell's voice was like iron. Draco glared. He had nearly forgotten he was supposed to be a lowly squire.

He watched angrily as Lord Tensbury left the stables, likely heading for a hot bath and a warm meal, the wretch. Draco managed to remove the saddles from the horses, but threw them aside, having no intention of dragging the smelly things all the way to the tack room. Tensbury had said nothing about putting the tack away—he had merely told Draco to feed and groom the horses.

Two small boys—not the bloody ginger-haired menaces from that morning—appeared and cheerfully helped Draco with the basics of horse grooming. One of them poured grain into the bins for Dobby and Kreacher and then tossed in a measure of hay. Even though he was nearly ready to faint from hunger and exhaustion, Draco found the task of brushing the soft fur of the steeds to be strangely satisfying. The rhythmic sound of them chewing their grain was almost soothing.

The boys put away the saddles and brushes when Draco had finished. He bid them a pleasant good eventide and dragged himself back to the castle. The Great Hall seemed to be in an uproar. It was filled with men drinking and tearing into great hunks of fowl and dark bread. Though far from Draco's usual fare, his mouth watered at the sight and scent of it. He was famished.

Despite the crowd, his eyes sought out the dark figure of Tensbury, who sat properly at the head of the table, for once. Incredibly, he looked straight at Draco and beckoned. Draco frowned, but obediently walked to Sir Blackfell's side. The redhead, whose name Draco had quite forgotten, sat at Tensbury's right and the frizzy-haired woman was to the left. Blackfell gestured and the red-haired fellow budged over with obvious reluctance to make room for Draco, who frowned, but sat willingly enough.

His eyes travelled over the newcomers, obviously part of the garrison sent by Draco's father to serve Lord Tensbury. Draco recognized none of them, so they would have no idea that he was anything other than Sir Blackfell's loyal squire.

One of them narrowed his eyes. "You allow your servants to dine with you, Sir Blackfell? How quaint."

Blackfell only smiled. "I would have very little company if I sat only with my peers. Most of the time it is quite empty here, and shall be again tomorrow once you and your men go out on patrol."

"I meant no offense," the man said gruffly, but his tone said otherwise. Draco's hackles rose immediately, although he was somewhat surprised at his sudden urge to defend his new overlord.

"What is your name?" Draco demanded of the man, meaning to make a note and have the bastard demoted if he became a problem. Captain of the Guard he might be, but that could change with a single word to Draco's father. The man's thick brows rose sharply and Blackfell gasped beside him.

"Draco, you must not question a knight of the realm in such a fashion!" Tensbury hissed, but it was too late.

"You seem to have little control over your underlings, Sir Blackfell," the captain said in a vicious tone. "Perhaps you should beat some manners into the lad."

"I beg to differ, my lord. If I—and my men—are to work for you, then it would behove us to know that your servants will obey orders."

"Will he?" Davies asked. He lifted his pewter goblet and shook it. "Boy, fetch me some wine."

Draco's eyes narrowed. Several of Davies' men followed suit, raising their drinking vessels with cries of, "Wine!"

Draco heard Blackfell swear and then he said, "Get them their damned wine. Restrain your temper and do the chore quickly." Draco glared at him and Blackfell's fingers gripped his arm tightly. "Remember not who you are, but who you are supposed to be."

Draco sneered as he got to his feet. He made his way to the kitchen where Molly handed him a large wineskin. "Be careful, lad," she said. "That Sir Davies has a mean look about him." Draco nodded. Indeed, he was already silently composing a letter to his father demanding comeuppance for Sir Davies.

Draco carried the wineskin over to the guard captain, who watched him with an unpleasant expression. Draco poured the wine carefully, unwilling to hear another slur pass the bastard's lips. It was a wasted effort.

"You're a pretty one, you are," Davies said in a low tone that only Draco could hear. "What other services do you provide for Lord Tensbury?" As the question registered, Draco felt a hand touch the inside of his thigh and travel higher.

He stiffened in outrage, shocked at the man's temerity, and completely forgot Tensbury's advice. He poured the entire contents of the wineskin directly into Davies' lap with a snarled, "You scabrous, mangy cur!"

Davies leaped to his feet with a loud bellow. Before Draco could move, Davies' fist caught his jaw in a vicious backhand, knocking backward to the floor. "You little—!"

Metal snicked against hard leather and Draco blinked up through a blurred haze to see Davies brandishing a long dagger with a wicked expression on his face. He fought through the ringing in his ears, knowing he needed to stand and fight.

"Hold, Davies!" Blackfell shouted. His voice rang with such authority that Davies halted and glared at him. Draco climbed to his feet, shaking off the effects of the blow with effort. He clenched his fists, intending to take on the soldier with his bare hands, if necessary. The knife made him pause and he glared at Sir Blackfell.

"Tensbury, this braying ass dared to lay a hand on me. I demand retribution!" Draco proclaimed. He touched his throbbing cheek with a hand and glanced about for a weapon.

"Retribution?" Davies bellowed in a disbelieving tone. "Blackfell, if you don't beat some manners into this whelp, I will!"

Tensbury's face was dark and his green eyes seemed to sparkle with rage. "Draco, go upstairs. I will deal with you later."

"I will not!" Draco declared haughtily. "Not until this bastard is suitably punished."

Shocked silence met his words, finally broken by Tensbury, who spoke in a flat tone. "Ron. Neville. Take Draco below."

Below? Draco's eyes widened in surprise. Surely, Blackfell was not siding with the wretched knight? He opened his mouth to protest.

"Not another word!" Tensbury said in a voice that brooked no argument. Draco snapped his jaw shut, weighing his options. He wanted nothing more than to take Davies apart piece by piece, but his father had arranged this farce to keep Draco from the seminary. If he destroyed the sham this quickly, he would be off to join the priesthood for certain.

That, more than the approach of Tensbury's underlings, decided him. He glanced at the trapdoor near the stairs with an open sneer of annoyance. It doubtlessly revealed a ladder that led to a storage pit or a donjon. Rather than allow Blackfell's underlings to touch him, Draco threw one final threatening glare at Davies.

"You have not heard the last of this," he warned in a low tone and then stalked to the trapdoor on his own. He could hear Blackfell growling at Davies, although he could not make out the words. Draco silently vowed that Blackfell would pay dearly for not allowing him to take out the price of the blow on Davies' flesh.

Neville opened the trapdoor to reveal a narrow set of stone steps that led down into darkness. He took a torch from the wall and descended, followed by Neville and Ron.

The steep steps led to a circular underground room. Several casks and crates were stacked against one wall. A large wooden pillar stood in the centre of the room, bracing the ceiling of the Great Hall far above.

Neville hovered with the torch near the stairs, looking uncomfortable. The redhead perched on a crate, still gnawing on a hunk of gravy-soaked bread. Draco leaned on the centre post and waited for Blackfell, who would no doubt give him a stern talking to for dousing Davies and wasting perfectly good wine. Or perfectly wretched wine, actually, since these backwater outposts seldom had anything resembling decent vintages. Besides, once Blackfell heard what Davies had done, he would know that Draco had been justified.

Footsteps sounded on the steps just as Draco concluded his self-righteous reverie. Blackfell appeared, looking even angrier than he had above.

"Out," he said tightly and jerked his head toward the steps. Neville nearly squeaked as he jammed the torch into a wall bracket and pounded up the steps. Ron scooted off the crate and gave Draco a wink as he passed.

"Luck, mate," he said cryptically before he disappeared after Neville. The door slammed shut far above.

Sir Blackfell turned his baleful green gaze on Draco, but said nothing. Instead he walked over to a large table near the stairs. It was topped with debris of all types—broken clay vessels, metal tools, bits of wood and assorted leather pieces. Blackfell studied it all for a moment while the silence between them grew. Draco frowned, determined to wait and hear what Tensbury had to say before speaking his piece.

Blackfell picked up something metallic. "I am not certain you understand what it means to be a squire, Draco," he said softly.

"And yet you agreed to become my squire as commanded by your father, the king," Blackfell said conversationally as he walked toward Draco. He toyed with a bit of iron in his hands, twisting the pieces together.

"It is acceptable to take orders from those of higher rank," Draco explained as though he spoke to a child.

Blackfell moved swiftly, covering the last few feet and pressing Draco hard against the post. Draco caught his breath, almost alarmed at the intense expression of fury on Blackfell's face. "As of this morning, Draco, I do outrank you. You are my squire and by hell you will start acting like one. I did not work like a bloody slave since I was seven years old in order to have my goal snatched from my very grasp by a spoiled brat who can't seem to understand the concept of taking orders!"

Draco's eyes widened and he felt slightly panicked when he realized Blackfell's chest was pressed quite firmly against his own. "It was my understanding that you were in full agreement with this arrangement. Or have you changed your mind about taking the cloth, Draco?" Tensbury nearly purred. The tone of his voice sent an odd rush of heat tangling through Draco's midsection.

"Good," Blackfell said and something cold clicked around Draco's wrist. Before he could blink, Tensbury spun him around and locked another cold item about his other wrist before dragging his hands upward. Draco's chest scraped against the wooden pole, which was a far cry from Blackfell's warm body.

Draco pulled at his arms, but his wrists were firmly shackled to the post. "What? What are you doing?"

Draco heard the sound of tearing cloth and he gasped when cool air struck the suddenly-bare skin of his back. Blackfell's voice resembled the iron that bound Draco's wrists. "It is time for you to learn that disobedience earns punishment, Draco."

Something whistled through the air and Draco nearly screamed as something sharp bit into his flesh, cutting across his back from shoulder to ribs. Hard leather. Tensbury was whipping him!

He had barely processed the thought and braced himself when a second blow slashed across his back, crossing over the first that now felt like a stripe of flame. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. A third blow struck and Draco pressed against the wooden pole, trying vainly to escape the burning sensation. He whimpered at the fourth lash and the muscles in his arms strained against their bonds.

His back felt like it had been doused in burning oil by the time the sixth blow landed. Pride alone kept him from shrieking aloud and begging Tensbury to stop. The bastard was methodical, spacing the blows evenly and taking care to strike a new patch of flesh each time.

Draco stopped counting, mindlessly cringing against the rough post with each blow and remaining on his feet though sheer force of will. His vision flickered darkly at the edges and he tasted blood. Either he had bitten his tongue or smashed his lip against the pole—it did not seem to matter which, as the pain covering his back drowned all other awareness.

Blackfell must have released him, because he suddenly slid to his knees, scraping his cheek harshly against the wood. He felt someone grip his arms and then he was pulled against a softer surface that he could not identify.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, Harry thought as he stared at the red welts crisscrossing Draco's back. He had been so angry that he had almost completely lost control. What the hell had he been thinking? He had beaten King Lucius' son senseless.

Harry dropped the whip as a sickening sensation gripped him. He had allowed Davies to goad him into a blind rage, insinuating that Draco had made a sexual advance and then upended the wine in his lap, unprovoked. Harry knew it could not be true, and yet the very idea of Draco touching Davies in an erotic fashion… It had driven him beyond a state of anger into near-madness.

Harry frowned as he scanned the marks once more. Only one blow had drawn blood. Despite his rage, he had been careful not to break the skin. Harry had been beaten far worse and many more times than he could count by his own master. Harry had only given Draco ten strokes with a single leather lash. It should not have been enough to make the man swoon.

Harry supposed it might be the shock of never having been beaten. Bloody hell, Draco would certainly write to his father, now. Harry felt a hanging looming on the horizon, perhaps accompanied by being drawn and quartered.

He reluctantly released the blond, who looked tragic crumpled on the dirt of the donjon floor. Harry suddenly felt sick. Draco was a right prat most of the time, but Harry still felt that he had marred something beautiful. He hurried up the stairs and signalled for Ron and Neville to take Draco to his room.

Davies watched with approval as Draco's limp body was carried from the trapdoor and up the stairs to the second level. Harry kept his face impassive, but he wanted nothing more than to wipe the self-satisfied smirk from Sir Roger Davies' face. Why had he let the pompous arse goad him into doing something so abysmally stupid? Granted, King Lucius had given Harry permission to beat Draco, if necessary, but the monarch had likely doubted Harry would ever dare.

The remainder of the meal seemed endless. Harry kept his gaze from darting to the stairs, but as soon as it was seemly he excused himself and hurried to his room. Draco was thankfully still unconscious. He lay facedown on his pallet.

Harry quickly fetched a jar of unguent from his personal stores and sank to his knees beside the blond. He spread the salve over each welt, feeling every mark as though it marred his own skin. The bloody wound was a small gash over Draco's ribs where three lashes had crisscrossed.

Harry used a wet cloth to wash the blood away and Draco stirred with a low moan. An apology was on Harry's tongue, but he choked it back. "Lie still," he commanded.

Draco stiffened, at once completely awake. Harry touched a bit of salve to the bleeding cut and heard Draco's sharp intake of breath. The salve stung at first, but it would deaden the pain and soothe the burn.

Surprisingly, the Prince said nothing. Harry continued to dab on the salve and then replaced the stopper before setting the jar aside. He removed Draco's boots and then covered his legs with a light blanket, taking care not to pull it up over his waist. He doubted the blond would appreciate Harry removing his hosen, so he left those alone.

He felt Draco's eyes on him as he took off his own clothing and slid into bed before blowing out the light. "Goodnight, Draco," he said softly.

Draco awakened early and was instantly aware of the pain. It felt like he had been stung by a thousand bees. He was also stiff as a board from sleeping on the uncomfortable pallet—if it could be called sleep. Every movement in the night had jolted him out of sleep. He sat up, wincing when his back stretched the welts and set up renewed throbbing.

He got to his feet and walked to the fireplace. The room was cold. He shot a glare at the dark head that lay on the white pillow. His master was still asleep. Draco's lip curled. To think he had almost started to like the bastard yesterday.

Draco knelt and looked blankly at the fire-making supplies. There were small bundles of twigs, wood chips, and larger split logs next to a square of flint. Draco vaguely remembered watching his servants build a fire, but he was damned if he could recall how they did it.

"You don't know how to lay a fire?" a dry voice asked and Draco straightened. He nearly bit his tongue to stifle a gasp of pain. He did not bother to snarl a reply. Surely the idiot knew he had never been without someone to perform the most rudimentary of chores.

He heard Tensbury slide from the bed and then the man knelt next to him. He took a small bundle of twigs and placed them beneath the metal grate of the fire before adding a stack of larger chips and gradually larger pieces, building them into a small tower.

After retrieving a dagger from the sheath hanging from the bedpost, Tensbury struck the flint piece until sparks flew onto the twig bundle and then he leaned down and blew until something ignited. Flickers of flame grew steadily brighter until Draco could see Tensbury's face clearly. The man seemed transfixed by the wood as it was consumed.

Draco thought about arguing, but the salve had helped measurably last night and his pride did not extend to stupidity. At least, he hoped it didn't. He walked forward and sprawled obediently on the blankets before pulling the down-filled pillow toward him. It smelled of Tensbury and Draco fought the knowledge that it was anything but unpleasant.

Sir Blackfell sat next to him and then Draco felt coolness dab at the flames consuming his back. Tensbury's touch was tentative at first, but grew more assured when Draco neither moved nor commented.

"You most likely despise me right now," Tensbury said conversationally. "And if you choose to end our association I will allow you to send a messenger to your father this morning. You probably think your beating to be unfair, but Davies would never have given me an inkling of respect had I not punished you. I take my duties seriously. Your father gave this responsibility to me and I will not shirk it. Do you understand?"

"No. No, you are definitely not a child," Tensbury said and something in the tone of his voice made Draco's breath catch in his throat. Tensbury's hands suddenly seemed less like those of a physician and more like those of a…

He swallowed hard, not allowing the thought to fully materialize. It would not do to see Tensbury as anything other than his overlord. And his hands, though gentle, had still caused pain as they glided over the wounds inflicted by those very hands.

Sir Blackfell finally finished his ministrations and handed Draco a tunic of soft lambskin. It was far less abrasive on Draco's raw flesh than harsh wool would have been, but Draco could not find it in him to thank the man. He dragged on the tunic and quickly threw on the remainder of his clothing.

"Will you help me to dress?" Tensbury asked just as Draco prepared to bolt out the door. He was willing to do whatever menial chore necessary to escape Sir Blackfell's disturbing presence. Draco's face flamed at the question and he nearly snarled in rage, but at the last moment he realized Tensbury might be baiting him. He restrained his anger with effort.

"By all means," he said in the mildest tone possible and sent a quick prayer of thanks to his mother for teaching him to remain calm and use dulcet tones so as not to offend any obnoxious foreign dignitaries.

Tensbury's brow rose, but he only nodded and began to shrug into his clothing. Draco wordlessly assisted the man with his tunic, dropping it over his head in a manner that would have gotten his own valet fired. Luckily, Tensbury was rustic enough not to notice. He had thankfully slept in his braies, so Draco was spared tugging those over lean legs and lacing them, but he did drop to his knees to help Tensbury with the cross-garters on his shoes. It was a strange feeling, being on his knees before anyone, and especially Tensbury. Draco kept his eyes firmly fixed on his task.

He quickly got to his feet and suppressed a wince when the movement pulled at his back. Tensbury held out both arms from his sides and Draco gazed at him blankly for a moment.

Draco nodded and took the sword belt from the bedpost. He leaned close and reached behind Tensbury to place the leather strap. Tensbury's scent assaulted him once more, reminding him of the knight's firm body pressed against his prior to the beating. Draco suddenly felt uncomfortably warm.

He jerked the belt tight and buckled it around Tensbury's hips with a rough motion before stepping back several steps.

"You can fetch my breakfast. I would rather not eat in the hall with Sir Davies and the others, should they happen to rise after all the drink they imbibed last night. I will be going over accounts at my desk." Tensbury jerked a dark head at the large desk near the window embrasure. "You can join me, if you'd like."

About to declare that he would rather dine with a pit full of starving wolves, Draco remembered Davies with a grimace. He would rather eat with starving wolves and Sir Blackfell than Davies. He muttered something incomprehensible and slipped out the door.

Harry sighed when Draco departed. He was reluctantly impressed with the blond. The prince had weathered the storm far better than he had expected.

The anticipated angry tantrum had not materialized, nor had demands to return home, nor even a storm of letter-writing. Harry could only assume Draco was weighing his options and possibly plotting revenge.

Harry spent the next thirty minutes going over figures—a task he despised. Numbers were not his forte, but he felt it was his duty. He knew Hermione would have to review them later and correct his errors.

The door opened and Draco appeared with a tray. He placed it on the edge of the bed and straightened. "Your breakfast, my lord."

"The horses have been tended. What would you like me to do now, my lord?" There was barely an edge of sarcasm in Draco's voice.

"Eat with me?" Harry asked, although he suspected the blond would rather choke than sit through a silent meal with him.

Harry suppressed a smile. "Very well. You can polish my armour. Drop the chain mail off with Hermione, first. There are some broken links she needs to repair. I nicked the blade of my sword yesterday, so take that as well. She gets annoyed when I don't keep an edge on it."

"Did I not introduce you? She is the woman with…" Harry made a motion around his head to indicate Hermione's mass of brown hair.

"A woman. Your smith is a woman." Draco's voice was both disbelieving and amused.

Harry's lips thinned. "She is a very good smith. I'll not hear a single word against her, either, is that clear?"

Harry tried to shove his irritation aside. What was it about the prince that always set his blood to boiling?

Without another word, Draco picked up Harry's armour from where Harry had tossed it the previous day. Harry saw a grimace cross his features, quickly masked. Draco's welts had not looked horrible, but they were doubtless painful with movement.

Draco was a model squire for the next three days, which Harry found disturbing in more ways than he would admit. He rose before dawn, saw to the horses, obtained Harry's breakfast, and even fetched water for Molly without being asked.

Each day he returned in time to help Harry dress, a process that caused Harry an increasing amount of distress. He decided he had been without a woman for far too long, since the sight of Draco's face, intent with concentration and a tantalising hint of tongue poking between the corner of his lips, made the blood rush to Harry's groin.

The worst was when Draco dropped to his knees to lace Harry's braies each morning. Harry had taken to wanking furiously the moment Draco departed the room in order not to embarrass himself during the dressing procedure.

The rare occasions when Draco lifted his eyes and caught Harry staring at him—well, he hoped the blond did not suspect his growing attraction. It was madness.

Self-recrimination did nothing to alleviate Harry's desire to touch Draco's silken blond hair and… what? What did he want?

Harry groaned. He had continued to rub salve on Draco's healing wounds each day, drawing out the process as long as possible merely to prolong the feel of his hands on Draco's pale skin. He wanted to touch more.

Draco's behaviour, however, was alarming. He did not argue, he treated others politely, and he no longer made snide comments. Harry found himself missing the fiery prince in the company of his now-sedate squire.

Sir Davies was no longer a problem. Harry had sent him and most of his men to patrol the borders of the demesne, a process that should keep them away for several days.

In desperation, Harry took Draco out for a ride, ostensibly to resolve a dispute between two peasants over farming rights to a particular plot of ground. Harry listened to both sides and looked hopefully to Draco for assistance, but his silent squire merely shrugged and went to examine Kreacher's hooves for stray stones.

Harry settled the incident as best he could and mounted Dobby for the ride back to the castle, holding his annoyance in check. He could hardly chastise Draco for behaving the way Harry had demanded. Hating the silence, Harry stopped in a small clearing part way back to the castle and dismounted to stretch the kinks out of his back.

The horses began to crop grass. Draco walked a short distance away, ignoring Harry as he did whenever possible. Harry watched as Draco lifted his arms to the sky. The movement pulled his clothing tight and caused it to cling to certain curves, nearly taking Harry's breath away.

Harry walked to his saddle and withdrew his sword from the sheath with a sound that made Draco turn curiously.

"En garde!" Harry yelled, striking a pose and brandishing his blade toward Draco, who rolled his eyes.

"Of course not. It is my duty as your master to see that you are adequately trained in all forms of combat."

"With reason, my lord," he replied and strode to Kreacher to remove his sword. He turned to Harry with a glare.

Harry grinned and took the offensive. Draco countered his first blow easily and returned an impressive manoeuvre that made Harry dance back in order to avoid a severed arm. He made a mental note that Draco obviously did not intend to hold back.

They were more evenly matched than Harry had expected. After several long minutes, Harry's arms began to ache and he panted with exertion. Draco's confident smirk had become a grimace of concentration and sweat trickled from his brow.

Harry circled him warily, ready for the next attack. His thigh stung where Draco had scored a blow, drawing blood and slowing Harry's steps.

With obvious effort, Draco leaped forward, sword flaming as it moved with lightning swiftness. Harry blocked one blow, then another, then a third, and finally stepped close enough to grapple the blond.

Their swords crossed between them, held tensely as each waited for the other to break. Unless they timed it properly, one of them would end this battle with blood on their blades.

Draco's grey eyes glared into Harry's. Their faces were inches apart and their panting breath mingled. Harry's muscles trembled with effort.

"Your enemies will seldom play fair," Harry said and kissed him. Draco's lips were soft and wet, parted with exertion, and Harry tasted them fully, swiping his tongue across Draco's lower lip and sucking gently. The blond was frozen for several heart-stopping moments and then he leaped away with a cry.

Harry did not press his advantage; he watched with a forced smile as Draco nearly fell on his arse. His grey eyes were wide. Harry laughed without mirth.

Draco said nothing as he mounted Kreacher. They rode in silence until Harry could take it no longer.

Draco's eyes shifted to Blackfell's honest face and then away. Tensbury had kissed him. Kissed him! Draco's thoughts were awhirl, no matter how he tried to rationalize that it had been nothing but a silly trick on Tensbury's part.

And yet, why such a kiss? A simple peck of lips to lips would have sufficed. Why kiss Draco as if he meant it? Why a… a… a lover's kiss?

He realized Tensbury had spoken and tried to focus on the man's words. The knight had complimented Draco's skill. Draco located his ability to speak and strove for nonchalance.

"I have two older brothers," Draco explained. He was pleased when his voice sounded normal to his own ears. "I had to learn or die."

Tensbury smiled. "I never had siblings, unless they were born after I left home."

Tensbury shrugged and waved an arm vaguely to encompass the countryside. "Here, now."

Tensbury frowned and then shook his head, but not before Draco caught a glimpse of ineffable sadness. "It doesn't matter. What about you? Where do you call home?"

"It's not that bad," Draco admitted and then put heels to Kreacher. "How are your skills on horseback, Sir Blackfell? Try and keep up!"

He heard Tensbury laugh again and then they were racing pell-mell toward Tensbury Keep, urging their mounts faster. For the first time since the battle with the reavers, Draco felt like a comrade instead of an interloper.

Draco served the meal to Tensbury and his friends. He certainly could not call them servants, as they sat at the table with the knight and spoke of things long past with casual familiarity. Draco was almost surprised when Blackfell insisted he join them, but he did so quickly enough. He was famished after the day's exertions. The talk, thankfully, did not return to reminiscing between Tensbury and his three companions, but instead turned to discussion of the raids.

To Draco's surprise, Ron scoffed at the idea. "Where, Hermione? We never know where they are going to strike. They have the whole of the river to make landfall."

"They go where it is most profitable for them," she insisted. "Have you not noticed?"

At that, Ron erupted into peals of laughter. Draco wasn't certain what he found so hilarious in a simple statement, but it earned him several fists to the arm from the irritated female. Tensbury merely smiled at their antics.

"Do," the knight said. "If we could set a trap, 'twould be simpler than rushing out to meet them after the fact."

Hermione fetched a number of scrolls and spread them out upon the table before explaining her observations by poking at her inked scratchings with a sharp knife. Draco noticed Ron made no scoffing noises while she held naked steel in her fist. He studied the figures with Tensbury and had to admit her findings made sense. She had included a sketched map and Draco pointed to it.

Tensbury answered immediately and Draco was impressed that not only had the man ridden his lands thoroughly, but apparently remembered every detail of it. His respect for the knight went up another notch, even though he would never admit it.

He made several suggestions about posting sentries in certain strategic locations. Tensbury nodded and leaned close to him to study the map. Draco tried to ignore the heat of Tensbury's shoulder as it pressed against his.

"So we can post sentries, but how will they get word to us quickly? How are we to alert the garrison?"

After nearly an hour of discussion and argument, it was decided that they would equip the sentries with flags after erecting poles in places where the banners would be visible from a distance. Hermione spent some time scribbling on the map while Tensbury and Ron tried to remember the high points of the land. Draco knew there would be much riding and activity in the next few days while they set up the new system.

He could not contribute much to the discussion at that point, especially after the three of them began to argue about trivialities, such as whether or not the northern knoll near Dennet's Well was higher or lower than the knoll near the old Roman wall remnant. After catching him yawning for the third time, Tensbury sent Draco to bed.

Draco woke up once when Blackfell entered the room, disrobed, and crawled into bed. He awakened much later for reasons unknown and lay staring into the darkness listening for any out of place noise.

The sound he heard was a breathy sort of moan, quickly stifled. His eyes lifted toward the bed and he was suddenly glad he had shifted in his sleep to lie upon his side, because the slightest movement would have alerted Tensbury to his wakefulness and he suddenly, very desperately, did not want Tensbury to stop what he was doing.

Draco forced his breathing into a slow and even cadence when the silence in the room stretched and grew. Perhaps he had made a minute sound before waking, causing Tensbury to freeze. Draco relaxed slightly when he heard the rustle of cloth. After a moment it became a repetitious whisper, barely audible. Tensbury was touching himself in a very wicked fashion.

The very thought of it made Draco's blood heat and he felt a quickening between his legs. Tensbury's breathing increased in volume and his strokes grew faster. Dear god. Draco wondered if he dared to move a hand down to his own erection.

With a muffled oath, Tensbury threw back his blankets. Draco thought his heart might stop, because the light coming through the window embrasure could not have been more perfectly placed. Tensbury's cock stood tall and erect, silhouetted in the moonlight. There was another quiet pause as Tensbury refused to move, probably listening intently for any sign that Draco had awakened. Draco could barely breathe.

At last Tensbury began to move his hand, stroking up the shaft and down again, moving with purpose, slowly at first and then faster and rougher. When the knight's breathing quickened, Draco dared to move his hand carefully down to his own aching cock. Merely grasping it while watching Tensbury was almost enough to give him release. Almost.

His eyes were fixed on Tensbury. He was amazed that watching another man bring himself off could be so erotic, but then it occurred to him that it wasn't simply another man, it was the black-haired devil that practically owned him. And Draco would be damned to hell if he didn't admit that Tensbury was like a work of art.

Tensbury's breathy noises were driving Draco mad and he bit his lip hard in order to stifle the sound of his release. His eyes had barely opened again when Tensbury arched and came, spilling seed over his still-moving hand and making a barely muffled cry. He continued to stroke and Draco shuddered once more and sent a final spurt to stain the blankets he would have to surreptitiously wash on the morrow.

Draco's breathing slowly returned to normal, although he continued to watch Tensbury, who lay unmoving in the shaft of light as his spent cock lost its proud hardness. After what seemed an eternity to Draco, who simply could not shut his eyes and look away, the knight dragged the blankets over his nudity and curled back into an attitude of sleep.

Harry hugged himself beneath the blankets and wondered what had possessed him to do such a thing. Draco was awake, he was certain of it. He had awakened with a raging hard-on caused by memories of the blond prince and their single kiss. A few strokes beneath the blanket had been unsatisfying and he had tossed them haphazardly aside before realizing he could no longer hear Draco breathing in the silent room.

The thought of Draco watching him had made his erection throb painfully and after a few moments of anguished debate, Harry had allowed himself to move his hand. He had nearly forgotten Draco's presence after a bit, until the tiniest rustle of cloth confirmed Harry's suspicions. He allowed himself to sink into fantasy—that it was not his hand bringing himself to delicious ecstasy, but Draco's hand… and maybe Draco's mouth.

It was enough. Harry came hard, quivering in his own grip, heady with the thrill of being watched by the one he had only recently discovered he wanted quite badly. As he came down from the euphoric cloud, he wondered if Draco had touched himself. Had he slipped a long pale hand between his legs and stroked himself off while watching Harry? The thought made his cock twitch, eager for another round as long as it involved Draco.

Don't covet things you can never have, he warned it sternly and reached down to tug his blankets back up. Now if only he could take his own advice.

He heard Draco rise early, dress, and depart, but he lay in bed trying to recover the last vestiges of sleep until his squire returned. The rattling of dishes awakened him.

Harry sat up groggily, surprised that he had managed to sink back into slumber after all. Apparently he had slept longer than expected, because light showed beyond the window embrasure. He was about to castigate Draco when he realized he had never issued specific orders for the blond to wake him up at a certain time—usually he rose on his own without assistance.

He sighed and propped his hands behind his head. Draco's eyes roamed over his bare torso and a derisive sneer twisted his fine lips. Harry grinned, wondering what thoughts were going through his mind behind those fathomless grey eyes.

"Neville?" Harry barked a laugh. "I wonder how he managed that? Neville hates to ride. He must have been bored."

"That is true, I suppose. Ron never did learn to read or write. Said it was a waste of time."

Draco muttered something that Harry didn't quite catch, but he could guess it was a slur against Ron. The two seemed to have developed something of an instant animosity.

"All right, then. I'm up." Harry threw aside his blankets and got to his feet, grinning when Draco blanched at his nudity. Any doubt Harry might have entertained about Draco's wakefulness the night before was instantly dispelled.

He turned around to rummage in his wardrobe for something to wear and heard a gasp behind him.

"Bloody hell," Draco murmured. Harry glance over his shoulder to see the prince staring at his back in shock. He snatched a tunic and turned around, suddenly self-conscious. He realized Draco had never seen his scars before, since he had always undressed in near-darkness.

He shrugged into the tunic and smiled in self-deprecation. "I told you I was a squire for many years. My master was not a patient man."

Harry grimaced. "No, I'm sorry. I should not have allowed my anger to goad me into inflicting upon you something that I despised when it was done to me."

Draco nodded, but he seemed more than willing to let the subject drop. "I brought your breakfast. Would you like milk? The porridge is rather hot; Molly made it especially for you. There are berries, too."

Harry gratefully turned to the subject of food and ate while Draco sat cross-legged on his pallet and caught the berries that Harry tossed to him every so often. They discussed their plans for the day and then Draco left to tend to the horses. Something profound seemed to have changed between them, although Harry could not pinpoint the difference.

Tensbury seemed content to wile the day away after awakening so late. He spent the entire morning in his room, poring over accounts, rustling parchment, sighing, and making a crow's nest of his hair.

"If you don't understand it, why do you torment yourself?" Draco asked, looking up from the black boot he had polished to a high gloss. Tensbury was so absorbed in his work that he did not notice it was Draco's boot rather than one of his. Besides, Draco had polished the knight's boots earlier. He was running out of chores that would keep him in the room and yet he was reluctant to leave.

"Do you want some… help?" Draco asked tentatively and Tensbury looked at him in surprise. Several emotions seemed to battle within him, reflected briefly on his face, and then he nodded.

Draco shrugged. It was better than polishing boots. He dragged a chest over to Tensbury's desk and spent the next few hours explaining accounts and how they related to different parts of castle rule. Draco warmed to his task when Tensbury asked question after question without seeming bored. He had a quick mind and Draco found himself volunteering more information than he anticipated.

He also found unexpected jolts of sensation whenever he brushed against Tensbury, or when their fingers touched while passing the quill or a bit of parchment. He realized he had never been quite so aware of another person and decided it was due to embarrassment. Watching Tensbury wank had been…

Blackfell's hand touched Draco's thigh and he nearly jumped out of his skin with a yelp. He stared into surprised green eyes and Tensbury removed his hand. "Sorry," he said. "I only asked if you wanted some water. You were far away for a moment."

A knock on the door interrupted Draco's response and Blackfell turned to bid them enter. Molly peered into the room. "My lord, Sir Davies just rode in. He brings an injured man."

Tensbury nodded and then looked at Draco with a frown, but said nothing. He got to his feet. "You can remain here, if you prefer, Draco."

Blackfell's lips quirked. "I said 'if you prefer' which suggests the choice is yours."

Draco shrugged. "Then I will accompany you." In truth, the thought of seeing Davies again caused his stomach to clench into knots, but he refused to give in to unease. He was a prince of the blood—it would take more than one disgusting lout to terrify him.

The injured man did not seem dreadfully injured to Draco. He sat on a bench before the long table with one bare leg propped up. One of the men tended it by slapping a hot poultice on it and wrapping it with cloth. The man was dark-skinned, and very handsome in an exotic sort of fashion.

Davies sat across from the newcomer, swilling ale from a large mug and gnawing on a loaf of bread, spilling crumbs down the front of his tunic. The man was a pig. Davies' eyes went straight to Draco and his resulting smirk made him want to cross swords with the bastard. Someday, when his duty to his father was complete… Draco allowed a cold smile to curve his lips at the thought of retribution and Davies' look of amusement faltered.

"Sir Blackfell," Davies growled, turning his attention to Tensbury. "This is Blaise Zabini. A travelling bard. He was nearly done for when I found him. Bloody bandits waylaid him."

Tensbury greeted the man politely. "Welcome. A bard, you say? We've had a shortage of entertainment here. Perhaps you will gift us with your talents later, if you are feeling up to it."

The bard looked at Tensbury with far more than casual interest, in Draco's opinion. His eyes seemed to touch the knight everywhere and a brilliant smile broke across his face. Draco felt a flare of annoyance at the man's blatant regard. "Lord Tensbury," Zabini said in a dulcet voice. "Thank you for your kindness. I'm sure I will be more than well enough to tend to your needs… whatever they might be."

Draco clenched his fists, but Tensbury seemed oblivious. He laughed and clapped the man on the shoulder. "Excellent. I shall look forward to it."

Draco snarled and stalked into the kitchen, muttering something about an errand.

Molly patted him on the shoulder after watching him randomly slamming pots around. "There, there, lad. What is it?"

Draco swallowed hard and tried to regain control. He could not explain why the bard's attention to Tensbury riled him so. "Davies is back," he said flatly.

Molly pursed her lips. "I noticed. He's a right devil, that one. I make sure the twins are elsewhere when he's about. He's a bad sort."

Draco nodded. Staying far away from Davies seemed like the best plan. He decided it was a perfect day to go and tend Blackfell's horses.

Harry watched Draco leave and frowned, wondering if he could send Davies away again, since his presence was obviously disturbing. He glanced back at Zabini, who had sprawled on the bench next to Davies and leaned close. They both laughed, sharing a private joke.

Harry sipped at a goblet of water and studied Zabini. There was something familiar about the dark-skinned man. Had he seen him before? Bards were rare enough. If he had met the man, he should remember him. Still… there was something.

Harry mentally filtered back through his memories, searching times and places. There had been so many. He sighed, realising he did not miss travelling in the slightest. This place was home now and he aimed to keep it.

The thought reminded him of King Lucius and he decided to track down Prince Draco to make sure he wasn't ordering anyone around and getting into trouble, particularly with Davies and his men about.

Harry smiled. "No. I promised Hermione I would allow her to fit me for a new breastplate this afternoon. She will behave shrewishly if I skive off."

Draco snorted, but said nothing. Harry could only imagine the comments he suppressed. He watched as the blond stroked the soft-bristled brush over the horse's back and flanks, flicking away dust in a rhythmic fashion. Harry's eyes caressed him, lingering on the outline of the fine arse visible beneath the hem of the tunic.

He bit his lip and wondered how he could possible broach the awkward subject of his attraction. In the next instant he knew that he could not. He mentally kicked himself and dragged his eyes away from the prince. The kiss had been a mistake. It meant nothing to Draco and Harry needed to put it out of his mind.

Draco cocked a brow at Harry's sardonic tone, but he only laughed and went out to find Hermione.

Harry did not see Draco until the evening meal, mainly because Hermione monopolized his time repairing and refining his armour. Ron returned with an exhausted Neville. The signalling system was working nicely, it seemed, and the farmers were well pleased with it.

Ron joined him as they entered the Great Hall. Molly and her staff were setting out trenchers of food for the man. Harry quickly scanned the crowd and located Draco, already seated.

Harry frowned when he noticed Blaise Zabini sitting next to Draco. As he watched, Zabini leaned close and whispered something in Draco's ear, placing a hand on his shoulder in the process. Draco laughed and blushed slightly. It would have been an enchanting sight except for the jealous rage clouding Harry's vision.

Davies sat next to Zabini, apparently ignoring Draco in favour of drinking heavily and exchanging ribald stories with his men.

Harry quickly crossed the hall and sat down next to Draco, who moved even closer to Zabini to make room for Harry. Zabini barely shifted aside and Harry bit his tongue on a comment when he noticed Draco's thigh pressed firmly against the bard's.

Several glasses of mead helped to dull his annoyance and he was relieved when Zabini got up to entertain the crowd. The dark-skinned man told several stories and sang while playing a lute. He was really very good and Harry found his irritation lessening. He might have to consider keeping the bard around once Draco returned to his royal life.

The thought of Draco leaving put him into a melancholy mood. Zabini's departure put Draco right next to Davies, who was drunk enough to start acting like an arse again, putting an arm around Draco's shoulders.

Draco got to his feet abruptly. "I need to help Molly with the dishes. I promised her. Excuse me, my lord Tensbury. Sir Davies."

Harry stayed next to Davies and engaged the knight in conversation until he saw Draco cross from the kitchen to the stairs, obviously retiring for the evening. He noticed both Davies and Zabini watching the blond, as well, and gave thanks that Draco was ensconced safely in his room.

Draco lay awake until Tensbury abandoned his guests and entered the room. He watched through half-lidded eyes as the knight disrobed and climbed into bed. He wondered if Tensbury had always slept in the nude, or if this was a recent affectation. Either way, Draco had no complaint as he took in the sight of Tensbury's lean form before it was concealed by the coverings.

Draco debated answering, but he thought it best to feign sleep. He was in no mood for conversation after watching Zabini staring at Tensbury's arse every time he thought the knight wasn't looking. The bard might have been pretending to want Draco, but his eyes followed Blackfell wherever he went.

Draco's reaction to Zabini's interest in Blackfell was disconcerting. He wanted to call the bard out on the field and cross swords with him. Either that, or knock him on his arse with a swift punch or two.

He scowled into the darkness. Why should he care? Tensbury had shown no return interest, at least, none that Draco had noticed. He seemed amused with the bard, at best.

"Well, if you're awake, thank you for your help with the accounts today," Tensbury said softly. "And with everything. I'm glad you're here."

The words warmed Draco and even eased his annoyance at Davies' drunken groping and Tensbury's obliviousness. Draco had left the table when Davies' hand had begun to slide up his thigh toward his crotch. Thankfully, the cretin had been too pissed to be dangerous. Why Tensbury allowed his knight to continue such ignoble behaviour was a mystery, but he supposed it was possible Blackfell had not noticed, since he had spent most of the meal chatting with Ron or watching Zabini.

Draco put it out of his mind and tried to sleep, but his attempt at slumber was destroyed some time later when he heard the rustle of cloth. His eyes snapped open and fixed on the bed.

Tensbury's torso was slowly revealed in the moonlight and for a moment Draco thought about giving thanks to some pagan goddess of the moon, because without it Draco would have been denied the vision of Tensbury's body, which he had finally admitted was quite nice to look upon.

His breath nearly caught when Tensbury's erect cock was slowly revealed and only remembered to inhale deeply when the movement paused. To his relief, the blankets finally kept moving to show Tensbury in all his glory just before the knight took hold of the turgid shaft and once again began to stroke.

Draco was rock hard and his hands were already conveniently placed near his crotch. He had not bothered to tighten the drawstring on his garment before retiring and his foresight was rewarded with easy access.

He took his own cock in hand and tugged gently, trying to be as silent as possible, moving in time with Blackfell's strokes. He became bolder when the sound of Tensbury's breathing increased. He didn't think the knight would hear him over his own arousal.

Draco never took his eyes off of Tensbury. The man was bloody gorgeous in the throes of passion and the sounds he made only heightened Draco's arousal. They came simultaneously, incredibly enough, although Draco admitted it might have been the sight of Tensbury losing complete control that sent him over the edge.

Fuck, he wanted to climb up on the bed and lick the man clean, which was almost as disturbing as it was arousing. He closed his eyes tightly and strove to force his breathing back to normal levels, hoping that Tensbury wouldn't hear the change.

His eyes snapped open again when he heard Tensbury leave the bed and his heart leaped into his throat, but the man only walked to the washbasin and cleaned himself up. Draco grimaced when he realized he would have to sleep with wet stickiness and wash himself thoroughly in the morn.

Harry rose early the next morning, but he dressed quietly and slipped out, allowing Draco to sleep. He felt slightly guilty about his actions during the night. What sort of pervert had he become, finding pleasure in the hope that Draco was watching? The memory made him pause. It had been more than a hope last night, he was certain of it. Draco had been awake and actively taking care of his own needs, if the small sounds coming from his pallet had been an accurate indication.

Harry touched the stone wall and pressed his hand against it, feeling the roughness dig into his palm. His feelings for the blond were very confusing. He actually liked Draco, now that he had gotten to know him. But even more than that, he found himself wanting to kiss him again, and more. He wanted to go back inside and slide beneath the prince's thin blankets to awaken him with a touch…

Harry swore and pushed away from the wall to hurry down the steps. He needed to get away from Draco and clear his head.

So thinking, he located Ron and had him rouse a group of grumbling, hung-over, and generally unpleasant men. Davies could not be located, much to Harry's annoyance. Witnesses had reported him seeking the company of a girl in the village, but none could remember which girl.

Harry was loathe to leave, knowing Draco's aversion to the man, but he had left a note for his squire asking him to do some additional work on the accounts. If Draco stayed in Harry's room, he would not need worry about Davies.

Harry had not planned to be gone long, but he was scarcely an hour from Tensbury Keep before a shout caused him and his men to stop their horses and await the approaching rider.

To Harry's shock, it was Fred Weasley, riding one of Harry's palfreys. Fred dragged the huffing horse to a stop. "My Lord 'arry!" he yelled. "Mum sent me! Tis Sir Davies! 'E's gone right mad! I fear for your squire."

Harry's blood went cold. He immediately put heels to Dobby and headed home, mentally kicking himself for leaving without Draco. If anything happened to him… Well, if anything happened to Prince Draco, then Tensbury would become a ruined spot on the map, but that meant nothing to Harry at the moment.

Dobby might not have been the prettiest steed, but he was a fast horse and Harry soon outdistanced the rest of his men. The gates swung open at his approach and one of the castle guards ran out to take his reins as he dragged the exhausted horse to a stop.

Harry frowned and relaxed slightly, thinking it unlikely that Davies could get up to much trouble in the stable. He wondered if the Weasley twins had planned some sort of joke in luring Harry back to the castle. If he, he would bloody well tan their hides this time, and Molly be damned.

Still thinking vengeful thoughts about the ginger twins, he marched into the stable—and stopped dead.

Draco was tied to one of the rafters, stretched so tightly that only his toes reached the ground. He had been stripped to his braies, which hung dangerously low on his hips, exposing a tuft of blond pubic hair. Despite his helpless pose, his eyes flared with frustrated malice.

Harry would have been transfixed by the sight, except that a towering rage exploded through him. Draco's torso was laced with red welts. He had obviously been lashed. Harry's eyes swung past Draco to Davies, who smiled lazily until the look on Harry's face froze the grin in place.

"Tensbury, your squire has been rude to me for the last time. In your absence, I took matters into my own hands," Davies said. "Just a bit of minor punishment. I think he secretly likes it. He was getting rather excited before you showed up, if you know what I mean." Davies chuckled nastily.

Harry drew his dagger and slashed through the ropes holding Draco to the beam. The blond collapsed, tried to keep his footing, and failed. Harry caught him before he fell.

Draco sneered and tried to pull away from Harry's grip. He sneered. "As if you will listen to my opinion, anyway."

Davies laughed. "He's gotten to you, too, hasn't he, Blackfell? That pretty, irresistible face."

"The baseborn cur woke me from a perfectly sound sleep, hammered on the door and demanded I come out. Ask anyone; they all heard him," Draco said. "He finally insulted my father, which is trea--" Draco caught himself before finishing the sentence, but Harry winced. Davies had no idea that King Lucius was Draco's father, but the slur had obviously been too much for Draco to bear.

The blond went on, "I demanded satisfaction, but Sir Davies set his men upon me instead of meeting me on the field of honour." Draco spat on the ground at Davies' feet, which sent the knight leaping forward with a roar.

Harry's booted foot caught Davies in the gut. He sprawled backward, gasping for air.

"You dared to lay a hand on my squire," Harry replied in as even a tone as he could manage. "I have not yet heard the rest. Please continue, Draco."

The prince seemed to realize Harry was still holding him, so he shoved himself away and stood proudly. "I fought them, of course. Three of them were down by the time they overwhelmed me through numbers alone. They tied me and brought me here for this bastard's... entertainment. Filthy ponce!"

Harry winced at the word, but Davies' glare was firmly fixed on Draco and he only smiled. "You would have been begging for me in another ten minutes."

Draco launched himself forward, but Harry caught him and wrestled him away from the smirking knight.

"That's Sir Blackfell, you wretched whelp!" Davies said, inadvertently defending Harry in his need to prove himself superior to the squire. "It was that vicious tongue of yours that got you beaten to start with. You should string him back up, Sir Blackfell, and finish what I started."

"You had no right," Harry said calmly, even though he was shaking with rage. "You took my squire from my own quarters while he performed a task I had ordered him to do. You set your men upon him and beat him with no authorization from me."

Davies finally looked away from Draco, seeming to realize that Harry was an actual threat. His eyes narrowed. "What do you plan to do about it?"

"This," Harry said. He took two steps forward and slammed his fist into Davies' jaw. The knight spun partially around and fell to one knee. He froze for a stunned moment and then turned with a roar of rage. He threw himself at Harry.

Draco watched with jaw agape as Lord Tensbury attacked Sir Davies. Surely Blackfell had gone mad; Davies outweighed him by four stone, at least. Davies recovered from the blow and launched himself at the black-haired man, but Tensbury sidestepped and kicked Davies with a booted foot on the way down.

Draco didn't move. He watched as Davies pushed himself to his feet and turned again with a murderous glare on his face.

Draco went out, wincing when he heard the smack of flesh connecting with flesh behind him. He hoped to hell it was Tensbury's fist, but he feared otherwise.

One of the ginger twins stood outside the stable door, looking frightened. "Get your mother!" Draco said. "Quickly! And where is that woman? That Hermione?"

"In the village!" the boy said over his shoulder as he raced toward the castle. Draco glanced at the stable in indecision for a moment and then turned resolutely to assist Tensbury. The door flew open and the knight in question fell through, struggled to regain his footing, failed, and sprawled in the dust.

Davies stalked out after him and raised a boot, obviously intending to kick Tensbury. Draco almost dove at him, but Tensbury rolled nimbly out of the way and bounced to his feet.

Davies' men had been lurking nearby and they began to move toward the action. Draco watched them nervously. There were far too many of them for Blackfell to take on alone, even with Draco's assistance. He was not sure how much help he would be with no weapons.

"'Ere, Roger!" one called. "Caught wi' yer pants down, eh?" He laughed roughly, but tossed Davies a sword. The knight caught it easily and Tensbury drew his own blade. His eyes met Draco's for a moment and he caught the uncertainty in their depths, quickly masked. With a quick flash of insight, Draco realized Blackfell was not concerned for himself, but for Draco.

The soldiers began to close in, but a clatter of hooves drew the attention of everyone. Draco had never been so glad to see Ron in his life. The column galloped forward and surrounded the circle of Davies' men.

"You need anything, Har—my lord?" Ron called and Draco remembered that the ginger-haired man almost always called him Harry. Such familiarity normally grated on Draco's nerves.

"Sir Davies and I are having a difference of opinion," Tensbury replied, not taking his eyes from Davies as they continued to circle each other.

"All right, then," Ron said. "We'll just sit here and make sure it's a fair fight."

Tensbury circled Davies warily. Draco watched for a moment and then glanced at Ron, who frowned at him and took in his appearance with a raised eyebrow. Draco looked away. He knew he was a sight and wished Davies had not destroyed his shirt in the barn. He felt uncomfortably exposed.

Davies lunged at Tensbury, who blocked the sharp thrust with seeming ease. Tensbury moved aside and countered with a tentative slash before sidestepping again.

Draco tried to watch impassively. Davies was surprisingly good with a blade, and his size belied his footwork. He drew blood first, slashing open the sleeve of Tensbury's coat. The material went red almost immediately and Draco felt a surge of anger, but Tensbury countered quickly. His next thrust scored a hit on Davies' upper thigh.

"A bit higher and to the right next time, Lord Tensbury!" Draco called helpfully. "Perhaps he won't be so quick to molest young boys and hapless squires!"

Davies roared in rage and started for Draco, but Tensbury was there, blocking his path with a murderous glare. "What did I tell you about staying away from my squire?" Blackfell hissed.

"You're a sodding ponce," Davies snapped and redoubled his attack, to no avail. Tensbury's footwork was amazing. Draco had fought him once and found him to be superb. Watching him against the rapidly-tiring Davies was an absolute joy.

Then the unthinkable happened. Tensbury's booted foot turned on a stone just when Davie's was alertly studying him for any sign of weakness. Davies lunged forward with a growl of satisfaction. Draco bit back a cry, knowing it was too late, and that any distraction might actually hinder Tensbury.

The sword seemed to move with infinite slowness. Draco watched with a sickening feeling as it penetrated Tensbury's side. It did not stop the knight, however; he clubbed Davies on the side of the head with his sword hilt and leaped back, wrenching free of the blade as the larger knight fell to the dirt, senseless.

Ron and the others cheered and Davies' soldiers set up a belligerent muttering. Draco hurried to Tensbury's side, but dared not touch him. The wounded lord smiled wanly at him with his arm pressed tightly to his side to staunch the flow of blood.

"Here, ye mangy curs! Let me through!" Molly's voice was strident and the onlookers quickly cleared a path for her. She reached for Blackfell, but he waved her away.

"I'm fine, Molly," Tensbury said quietly. "Ron, take Davies. Have his wounds tended and then put him on his horse. I want him and his men out of here by nightfall. I'll have a message sent to King Lucius within the hour. I'll not tolerate such behaviour in my demesne." He looked pointedly at Draco, but left the comment unspoken. The meaning was clear—Draco could send something to his father if he wished.

He frowned, thinking of a few choice things he could mention about Davies that would hopefully have the bastard beheaded next time he showed his face near any of his father's knights.

Tensbury walked through the castle and up to his room, stumbling only once. Draco and Molly trailed behind and Draco caught his arm when he slipped, and then helped him to his feet.

Tensbury looked at him gratefully, but stepped away and continued the rest of the way on his own. Once in the privacy of his room, he allowed Draco to help him disrobe. Draco blanched when he saw the amount of blood staining the tunic. He staggered back, nudged aside by Molly, who pushed Tensbury back onto the bed and pressed a folded cloth against the jagged wound.

"Hold that in place tightly, Lord Blackfell," she said. "Draco, you fetch me some water, the hotter the better. And tell one of my boys to bring my herb pouch!"

Harry felt much better after Molly bandaged his wound and dosed him with some wretched tasting tea that left him feeling a bit giddy. He knew the effect was temporary and that the euphoria would fade when drowsiness took over.

Draco hovered near his bedside, outwardly tending to Harry's clothing, but shooting several worried glances Harry's way. Harry thought it was adorable.

Draco's silver gaze snapped to him and he looked at the spot as though to sit there would mean his eternal doom. Still, he walked forward and sat, so close to the edge that if he shifted in the wrong way he would fall off.

"I want to apologize," Harry said, mentally debating whether or not to reach out and place his hand on Draco's knee in a friendly gesture. He decided against it partly because the gesture would be far from friendly now that he knew he wanted to touch Draco in a very non-brotherly fashion, and partly because he suspected Draco might bolt like a frightened rabbit if Harry attempted it.

He managed not to giggle aloud at the image, although the potion he had imbibed made everything seem twenty times more amusing than usual.

"Apologize?" Draco prodded and Harry realized his thoughts had been meandering. He tried to drag them back on course.

"Yes. Apologize. I had no idea Davies was such an ignoble charlatan. I foolishly believed that a knight would not behave in such a base manner and I punished you wrongly for something that was likely incited by Davies' inexcusable behaviour. I allowed my anger to cloud my judgement and did not even give you leave to defend yourself."

Draco's eyes were wide when Harry finished and he no longer seemed willing to flee at the slightest provocation. Harry took the opportunity to place his hand lightly on Draco's kneecap, knowing it was a foolish move, but unable to stop himself when he was so close. He knew he would likely never have another opportunity and he could also blame it on Molly's posset.

Draco did not seem to notice, so Harry spoke quickly to cover his elation. "I give you leave to write to your father. You may tell him whatever you like and I will send it with my message regarding Davies. If he chooses to strip me of my title and lands, then so be it. I will accept his judgement… and yours."

Harry's fingers itched to caress Draco's knee as he spoke, but he knew that doing so would make him no better than Davies. He removed his hand with effort and shut his eyes, feeling the soporific effect of the potion.

"I should not have hurt you," he finished in a whisper. "I was foolish. And jealous."

He sighed and rolled away to bury his face in the pillow. He thought he felt Draco touch his shoulder, but it was mostly likely a dream. He sank into darkness.

Draco stared at Tensbury as he turned away and drifted off to sleep, wondering if he had misheard the man. Had he said jealous? Draco touched his shoulder, half-determined to shake him awake and demand to know what he meant by that, but Molly's medicines were powerful. Draco knew Tensbury would sleep the day away, and possibly the night, also.

Draco swallowed hard, remembering their night-time activities. Did Tensbury suspect that Draco was awake? Did he imagine Draco watching him while he brought himself to completion?

The very thought of it increased the pace of Draco's breathing and he got to his feet, disturbed and partially hard.

The door opened, which was a welcome distraction for all of five seconds, until Draco saw the slap-worthy face of Blaise Zabini.

"Ah, Draco. How is Blackfell? Molly suggested I come up and sit with him. She says that gentle songs can often speed healing, which I believe to be true. I have seen it, myself."

Draco bit back a snarl and shot a quick glance at Tensbury. He supposed it would do no harm, especially when Draco had no intention of leaving Blackfell alone with the bard. He shrugged.

Blaise smiled and brought in a small stool, which he propped next to Tensbury's bed. For the next hour, Draco pored over Blackfell's account books while Zabini played the lute and sang. Truth be told, the man had a lovely voice and he played well.

Draco hoped Tensbury would not awaken until after Zabini left. It was a crying shame that the bard had not been about during the Davies situation. Zabini had been off in the village, or Draco would have bet he would have been next to Davies, egging him on.

Draco paused in adding a column of figures and glanced over his shoulder when the music stopped. He wondered why he despised the man.

"Poor lamb," Zabini cooed and brushed a lock of black hair back from Tensbury's forehead.

Draco's teeth clenched. Oh yes, that was why. Draco turned back to the numbers, although it took him several attempts to add them properly. Bloody hell, he was jealous of a man paying attention to another man.

Good thing I have no intention of joining the priesthood, he thought bitterly to himself.

Harry swam back to consciousness, but everything seemed strange. He felt weak and almost… fuzzy.

"Draco?" he called and was surprised to find his voice a mere rasp. His mouth felt bone dry and his throat ached.

"My lord Tensbury!" another voice said. "We feared for your life! It's good to have you back with us."

A hand clasped his and Harry frowned, turning his head with effort and blinking at the smiling face of Blaise Zabini. Harry wondered what the bard was doing in his room. He looked back at Draco, who stood at the bedside.

"You developed a fever," Draco said. "You have been unconscious for four days. Molly was nearly at her wit's end."

"Yes," Blaise interrupted. "Poor, dear, Molly. She said to fetch her the moment Harry awakened. Perhaps you should do that, Draco?"

Harry's gaze shot to Blaise, surprised at the use of his real name. It was true that Ron and Hermione still used it frequently, and he had even requested that Draco use it at one time… but coming from Zabini it sounded odd, too intimate, somehow.

He spun and walked toward the door. Harry watched him, puzzled, until he noticed that Blaise had also closely observed Draco's exit. The bard grinned at him and raised an eyebrow.

"He is delectable, isn't he?" Zabini said. "I can't really blame Davies for his interest, although his methods were far from subtle. It's no wonder the poor boy fought him."

Harry was too shocked to respond for a moment. Zabini frowned. "I'm terribly sorry; I did not think you were the type to be offended by such things. Admiration of both male and female beauty is far more permissible where I'm from."

"I'm not offended," Harry snapped. "I simply think Draco has been though quite enough. I should like to spare him any further mauling. Why are you here?"

Zabini smirked. "Oh, I hardly think is averse to my 'mauling'. I am so much more gentle and persuasive than Sir Davies."

Harry glared as the image of Draco and Zabini locked in an amorous embrace threatened to suffocate him. "Heed my words, Zabini. If you touch one hair on Draco's head—or any other part of his body—I will have you castrated and shipped off to Morocco." Harry was a bit shocked at the vehemence of his own words and a stunned silence filled the room.

Zabini gaped at him and then the door burst open to reveal Draco, who panted with exertion. He must have run all the way, for it took Molly another few minutes to hurry through the door after him.

She bustled around and Harry fixed another measuring gaze on Zabini. The bard frowned, bowed his head, and departed.

Harry obediently took Molly's medicines and drank the broth she offered, but his mind was on Zabini's words. I hardly think he is averse to my mauling. What had Draco been doing while Harry had been unavailable? Had he made friends with Zabini? Had they become more than friends?

"Lord Tensbury!" Molly cried in a chastising tone and then sniffed. "Far be it from me to rebuke you, my lord, but Draco has been at your side day and night."

Harry relaxed minutely and allowed Molly to pull at his coverings to expose his bandaged side.

Draco scowled at him and then looked at Molly. "Do you need anything?" he asked her.

"Yes, Draco, dear. Please have Ginny prepare a bowl of broth for Lord Tensbury. You may bring it back here with some of the bread I made this afternoon. And perhaps some wine?"

Draco nodded, shot one more glance at Harry, and went out. To Harry's disappointment, Draco did not return. Instead, Molly's daughter entered with the items and Harry did not see Draco again before exhaustion dragged him back to slumber.

When Harry awakened again, it was to the feel of cool hands on his torso. He opened his eyes to find the room almost fully dark, with Draco perched on the edge of the bed next to him.

"You weren't supposed to wake up," Draco said softly as he tugged away the bandage from Harry's side.

"Yes, you gave us a bit of a fright." Draco gently peeled away the dressing and Harry winced when the dried bits held to his torn flesh, forcing Draco to yank quickly. "Sorry," Draco continued. "That likely would have awakened you, at any rate."

Harry nodded and watched as Draco's long fingers bathed his wound, which looked pink and healthy, albeit still quite ugly and raw.

"At least Molly's poultice is working. You would be up an about already, if not for the bloody fever." Draco reached for a nearby earthenware jar and dipped his fingers in to coat them in a muddy-looking substance. He smeared it over Harry's wound liberally.

Harry watched, fascinated, as Draco worked. When the salve was in place, he took a clean square of linen and pressed it to the wound before binding it tightly with several long strips of cloth. Harry tried not to flinch at the movements and breathed a sigh of relief when Draco finished.

"Piss off," Draco retorted as he wiped his hands clean. His gaze shifted to Harry and he added, "My lord." The amusement in his tone belied his words and Harry laughed.

"I'm certain you understand why that is," Draco said and leaned forward to press a hand against Harry's forehead. Harry's breath caught in his throat at the unexpected gesture, and his heart skipped a beat when Draco smoothed a lock of hair back from his brow.

"The fever is gone, at any rate," Draco said and Harry reached up to grasp his wrist before he could withdraw it. He impulsively pushed his cheek into Draco's palm, closing his eyes at the warmth of it and feeling the slow thud of Draco's pulse beneath his fingers.

Harry turned his head and pressed a kiss into the soft centre of Draco's palm, knowing the action was foolish beyond reason, but unable to stop himself. Draco's ministrations had affected him more than expected.

"I don't feel that my fever has gone at all," Harry said hoarsely and slid his lips down until they joined his fingers over Draco's wrist. "Unless this is simply a different sort of fever." He felt Draco's pulse jump when he placed a kiss on his wrist and opened his lips to touch the spot with his tongue.

Draco gasped, but did not yank his arm away, as expected. Harry glanced at him through the corner of his eye and watched with fascination as the grey eyes widened in amazement. Harry kissed his wrist again, lingeringly this time.

Harry tugged gently, minutely urging Draco forward as he placed soft kisses over his arm, working his way to the soft flesh where Draco's elbow curved, and pushing the sleeve of Draco's tunic upward with his face.

He felt Draco shiver when his tongue lapped out and then Harry turned to look at him. Draco leaned half over him and his lips were close enough to kiss.

Their eyes locked for a timeless moment and then Draco moved of his own accord, pressing his lips to Harry's.

Harry stopped breathing, partly in surprise, and partly because Draco's mouth covered his completely—and there was nothing tentative about it. One moment they were apart and the next they were locked at the lips, kissing madly. Draco's hands gripped Harry's face tightly; suddenly he was the aggressor, kissing Harry as though starving for it.

Harry's arms went tentatively around Draco's back, not quite believing his own eyes, and lips, and hands. Draco was touching him and kissing him. He wondering if he were hallucinating and prayed it was more than a dream.

When it did not dissolve into mist, but rather moved on to a series of gentle nips and pants and near-growls at they devoured each other, Harry began to believe. His arms tightened and then released in order to slide beneath Draco's tunic to caress the warm skin found there.

"Me? You are the one wanking by the light of the bloody moon every night, driving me half-mad."

Harry chuckled and kissed him again, knowing the stubborn prince would never admit to pleasuring himself while watching Harry.

Pale lashes dropped over Harry's eyes and he thought the blond might have blushed, although it was too dark to see. A single nod was answer enough.

Harry groaned, knowing he was utterly damned now. "I've been fighting this so hard. Ever since I kissed you, I've wanted to do so again and again."

"Well," Draco said pragmatically, "You can hardly be blamed. I am extraordinary."

Harry laughed aloud and then yelped when the movement pulled his wound sharply. Draco sat back immediately and frowned.

"You need to rest," he admonished. "Molly would chastise me harshly for disturbing you."

Harry tightened his grip as Draco tried to leave the bed. "I like the way you disturb me."

Draco grabbed Harry's wrists and gently detached them from his waist. "I know you do. But you can't do anything in your present state without risking the return of your fever."

"I definitely have a fever now," Harry murmured, clutching at Draco's forearms and attempting to pull him back into a kiss.

Draco laughed and let himself be pulled, but only long enough to allow a few gentle kisses before disentangling himself from Harry's clinging hands.

"Sleep, my lord," Draco admonished and stepped away from the bed completely. Harry wanted to go after him, but a shard of pain accompanied his attempt to sit up, sending him back to the pillows with a wince. "You see? You are by no means ready for any sort of strenuous activity."

"What sort of strenuous activity?" Harry purred, still unable to believe his good fortune, and yet he found doubt returning with each hand span of distance between him and Draco. He wanted the prince to return to bed, even if only to lie with him, except that he knew he would be hard-pressed to keep his hands off the man.

"We will discuss that when you are well," Draco said with finality. "Now, go back to sleep. I need to let Molly know that I've changed your poultice, or else she will be up all night fretting. I shall return."

Harry sighed and watched Draco walk toward the door. "Thank you, Draco," he said softly and the blond gave him a gentle smile before departing.

Harry was asleep when Draco returned. He lay on his pallet for a long time, wondering at the insanity that had taken them both. He could scarcely believe that Tensbury had kissed his palm, his wrist, and his forearm, working upward in a tantalising caress. Draco had been lost long before their lips met.

He turned on his side to better study the sleeping lord. Draco had been worried. Tensbury had been pale as death for two days, wracked with fever and murmuring snatches of tortured dreams. Draco had bathed his face and neck worriedly, only leaving Tensbury's side when absolutely necessary.

Draco fell asleep watching the steady rise and fall of Blackfell's chest, reflecting wryly that the kissing had been brilliant.

Draco woke long before dawn and slipped out without disturbing Tensbury. He had grown accustomed to performing his duties early in order to return to Tensbury's side. Molly was already waiting for him in the kitchen and she handed him a bowl of porridge with a welcoming smile.

He had nearly finished eating when she asked, "Draco, will you take this kettle out to Hermione on your way to the stable? That weak spot finally gave out and she's promised to repair it for me."

Draco nodded and mumbled around his last mouthful. He vowed to say nothing about the ridiculousness of a female smith unless the bushy-haired termagant antagonized him, which she most likely would.

Draco took the kettle and ambled out to the small overhang near the stable which sheltered the smithy and furnace. He heard voices and automatically slowed his steps. It was a natural reflex bestowed by his heritage. One never knew what useful secrets could be learned by a bit of judicious listening around corners.

As Draco neared, he heard Ron's voice and groaned inwardly. He hoped they weren't being revoltingly romantic. Tensbury seemed oblivious to the secret love affair the two carried on beneath his nose, but Draco had caught them in a heated embrace more than once, perhaps due to his habit of walking quietly. Not sneaking, he was simply naturally stealthy.

"Well, I'm just glad Harry is all right," Hermione said. Draco stopped walking, deciding it was his duty to eavesdrop if they planned to discuss Tensbury. Or Harry, as they called him.

"Aye, it was a bit terrifying seeing him on his deathbed like that. What will happen to us if he dies?" Ron asked.

"What? Doesn't mean I care less about Harry, or wasn't worried for him. Just means I have a care for us, as well. What if they investigated?"

Hermione sighed loudly. "Why would they investigate if Harry died, for the love of—?"

"I don't know! But they wouldn't keep us on here, that's certain! We're all bloody fakers… well, except you. I mean, you can smith anywhere, or anywhere that will accept a girl as a smith, that is."

"Ronald," she said in a warning tone and Draco smiled despite his curiosity. What did he mean by fakers? Draco heard a loud clang of metal on metal and then Hermione went on. "Besides, you're doing an excellent job as Marshall and Harry… Well, look what he's done. This run-down old keep is functional again. The raiders are being dealt with and the local brigands have been driven out. The people are healthy and he genuinely cares about them, including the villagers and the farmers. They all know it, too. I've never seen such loyalty."

Ron muttered something that sounded like, "It's easy to be loyal to one of your own."

"Enough of that, Ron. Just because Harry lied about his noble birth does not make him any less of a man. Look at that wretched Davies! Noble blood." Hermione scoffed. "A fine lineage doesn't make him any less of an arse."

Draco fairly reeled at her words. He put out a hand to brace himself against the wall. Lied about his noble birth? Tensbury had lied?

Draco straightened and schooled his features into his best placid mask before walking around the corner. Ron coughed nervously, but Hermione simply glanced at Draco and went on with her task of sorting horseshoes. Draco tossed the kettle to Ron and relayed Molly's request before escaping. He had much to think about.

Harry was awake when Draco returned. He noticed immediately that the prince seemed subdued. Molly had brought Harry's breakfast and he nibbled at his food while Draco seated himself at the desk and began to pore over his ledgers.

Harry felt a stab of anxiety. Did he regret what had happened the night before? He opened his mouth to ask, but a knock sounded on the door and he frowned instead. "Come in," he called.

Seamus Finnegan, Harry's bailiff, stood in the doorway, twisting his hat nervously. "Lord Tensbury," he said. "Sorry to disturb ye, sir. Erm… Draco? Zacharias says 'e ain't going ter give Carter no boards as 'e needs 'em fer the roof o' the coop, so Carter says 'e plans to snatch the ruddy boards from somewhere an' the men are takin' wagers on 'oo 'its 'oo first…"

Draco sighed and rubbed his temple. "Tell Zacharias to give Carter the damned boards because he needs to finish the wagon and take Luna to the village today. We're expecting another lot of wood this afternoon and I'm certain Zacharias can find something to occupy his time until it gets here."

Harry's brows lifted in surprise as Finnegan looked at him for confirmation. He nodded, seeing nothing wrong with Draco's pronouncement. Finnegan started to leave, but then turned back and asked, "Also, 'ermione won't make no new nails…"

Draco glared. "I had this discussion with Reggie, yesterday. Scavenge the nails from the old storage shed once the goods have been moved to the new one. Now that I'm thinking about it, Zacharias can scavenge the old boards from there to use on the coop."

Once again, Finnegan looked to Harry for confirmation. Harry nodded and Finnegan departed after mumbling thanks. Harry shifted his gaze to Draco, who had gone back to the ledgers.

Harry said nothing, but watched carefully throughout the morning as people came and went, deferring to Harry, but asking questions and advice of Draco. The prince appeared to have taken over completely during Harry's absence. Rather than annoying him, Harry felt strangely proud. Draco might pretend to be a squire, but he was innately a prince.

During that time, Draco said barely ten words to Harry, working in silence and scratching away with the quill, despite his many attempts to draw him into conversation. Finally, frustrated, Harry asked, "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

Draco sighed and set down the quill before pushing his chair back. "I don't know," he said. "I'm just… out of sorts."

Draco said nothing and Harry felt a moment of panic, even though he had known it was too good to be true.

"No," Draco said finally and then added, "Yes. I don't know. Look, I just need to sort out some things."

Harry's fists clenched in the blankets. "All right," he said softly. Something in his tone must have caused Draco to turn and glare at him. Harry found himself babbling, trying to conjure excuses for his behaviour, willing to say anything to keep Draco from treating him like someone unworthy because of a stupid, impulsive kiss. "I'm sorry for last night; I know it was ridiculous and I'd love to blame it on the fever, or one of Molly's concoctions or, hell, stark raving madness, if you will, but the truth is…" Harry's voice broke and he looked away, down at his hands bunching the fabric together over his chest. "The truth is I would do it again."

He lifted his eyes to Draco's and jutted his chin stubbornly. To his surprise, a smile curved Draco's lips. The blond left the chair and moved over to seat himself on the edge of Harry's bed. "You are ludicrously bold, aren't you?" Draco asked softly.

Draco leaned forward and then reached out and cupped Harry's cheek with one warm hand. Harry forgot to breathe as he leaned into Draco's touch, hating himself for wanting it so badly, but unable to resist.

"I don't find you stupid at all, Harry," Draco said. He leaned forward even farther and Harry's eyes slipped closed in anticipation of a kiss. His heart felt like it would pound free of his chest.

The door opened suddenly and Harry's eyes snapped open as Draco's head jerked round. Blaise Zabini stood in the doorway. His dark eyes appraised them and a smirk curled his lips even as Draco dropped his hand and moved away.

"Don't mind me," Zabini purred. "I just came to bring Lord Tensbury a potion and a flagon of wine. Molly's orders."

Draco marched out to the stable angrily. Bloody Zabini. The bard had been a thorn in Draco's side for days, lurking around Harry's beside under the guise of helping him heal with soothing music. And gentle caresses. And whatever else he got up to whenever Draco left the room. Bastard.

The thought of Zabini tugging away Tensbury's blankets to look his fill of Harry's prone form made his fists clench in rage. He had little doubt Zabini had done so at the first opportunity. He had made his intentions more than clear regarding Sir Blackfell.

"I will have him, Draco," Zabini had said. "Mark my words. There are worse things than being the chosen consort of a noble lord. He has a fine castle, ample servants, an excellent plot of land and willing peasants to provide all the amenities. I believe I will stay."

Blaise had only smirked. "No? How long do you think it will take me to change that? I know what men like and I am not afraid to show it. Unlike you."

Blaise had shrugged. "It's obvious you are attracted to him. And it's equally obvious you will do nothing about it. Therefore, I suggest you step aside and leave him to me."

Draco realized his footsteps had slowed as he relived the memory. He cursed and resumed his walk to the stables. Why did his life have to be so bloody complicated? First he was threatened with the priesthood, and then he had to pretend to be a squire, and then he was unjustly beaten, and then he discovered he had feelings for his damned pretender-knight master...

Muted giggling drew his attention the minute he stepped into the stable. The Weasley twins were perched on a crate with their heads together—never a comforting sight.

One of them snickered. For the life of him, Draco still could not tell them apart. "We pulled a prank," the other admitted.

Draco's day suddenly looked quite a lot brighter. He sat down and listened to the wicked twins as they explained their latest plot.

Harry watched Zabini warily as he set the wine on his bedside table and uncorked the vial.

"Do you prefer this mixed with the wine, or would you rather drink it down?" Zabini asked blandly.

Harry took it and gulped the foul-tasting liquid all at once. He nearly gagged, but Zabini held out the goblet, likely anticipating Harry's reaction.

"I see your affection for your squire is growing," Zabini commented when Harry had finished drinking.

Zabini smiled. "It's obvious to anyone with eyes. You two are smitten with one another. It's almost a pity it can't last."

Harry's hand clenched around the goblet. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said lamely.

Zabini sank down on one corner of the bed. "Of course you do, Harry. It would be one thing if you were a true knight. But the fact is, you could be exposed any day as the wicked little charlatan you are." As he spoke, he leaned close to Harry and tapped his chest with each of his final three words.

Harry's heart clenched. "What do you mean?" he asked again, feeling stupidly out of his element.

Zabini's dark fingers walked up Harry's sternum to rest in the hollow of his throat. "I recognized you, Sir Blackfell. It took me some time to work it out, but I knew I had seen you before."

Zabini went on, "I kept thinking I'd seen you at a tournament, which was true, but not in a knightly capacity. Finally it came to me when I saw you carrying a bucket of water across the courtyard. You should not have done that, by the way. Overlords do not carry water. You should have had your pretty squire do it."

Zabini's fingers stroked over Harry's collarbone and his voice deepened. "Speaking of your pretty squire, I'm sure it would devastate him to learn of your duplicity. Tell me, what happened to your master, Harry?"

"It seemed a viable option at the time." Harry's voice was rough and he fought to steady it. "What do you plan to do?"

"What do you want?" Harry asked, feeling a rush of anger break through his cold stasis.

Blaise leaned forward and pressed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Harry resisted the urge to push him away, barely.

Zabini shrugged. "Then I send a message to the king. I would hate to see you lose your lands and title out of stubbornness. You obviously made many difficult decisions to get where you are now. What difference can a few more make?"

He nibbled at Harry's lips. "Besides, I don't think you'll protest for long. I'll make it very good for you."

Under normal circumstances, Harry would have told him what to do with his blackmail. The threat to expose him to King Lucius was very real, however, and Harry would likely lose more than simply his lands and title. Depending on the level of rage Draco felt regarding Harry's lies, he would be lucky to escape with his life. Commoners did not dare to touch those of royal blood, and they especially did not dare to kiss them.

Zabini smirked. He patted Harry's cheek lightly with one hand. "All right, Harry. I'll let you rest a while. And fear not; I would much rather have you as Lord of the Manor than not have you at all when they drag you off to the donjon. I hope you will feel the same."

Draco returned to the Great Hall in remarkably good spirits. Planting an assortment of snakes in Blaise Zabini's belongings had been cathartic. He also had new respect for the Weasley twins. Those two demons had been extraordinary when it came to hiding places. Draco particularly enjoyed the one slipped into Zabini's wine skin.

He grinned wickedly as he imagined Zabini raising it to take a drink—and getting a mouthful of serpent.

His smile froze and then died as he stumbled to a halt, staring in disbelief at the sight that met his eyes.

Tensbury was up, looking pale and shaken, but seated in his usual place, holding a goblet in one hand. His expression was strange. He looked almost… defeated. The thought was barely a whisper across Draco's mind before it was eradicated when Tensbury's companion leaned toward and fairly cuddled against him.

Draco thought he saw Harry flinch. He could have sworn it, until the green eyes rose and locked with his. And then Tensbury draped an arm around Zabini's shoulders and pulled him closer. The dark skinned man leaned his head on Harry's shoulder with a satisfied smile.

Draco felt like he'd been kicked. The air fairly fled his lungs and left him gasping. How could it be? Was Tensbury mad? What sort of bloody fickle bastard was he? Had Zabini climbed willingly into his bed the moment Draco's back was turned?

Draco found himself shaking with rage. His fists were clenched so tightly he thought his bones might snap.

All day he had been wrestling with his conscience, agonizing over the fact that he'd fallen in love with a man, and not only a man, but a commoner! He had made himself observe Tensbury's handiwork and found a remarkable pride in what Tensbury had accomplished. Hermione had been right—if nobility could be measured in deeds, then Tensbury was worth a dozen lesser knights.

A hand on Draco's arm startled him into a half-gasp and he turned to stare at Neville Longbottom, who quailed away as though expecting a blow.

Draco realized his features were twisted into a mask of fury and he forced them into a more normal expression. He took several deep, calming breaths.

"I believe I am," he said. "Please inform Lord Tensbury that I am going to partake of some cleaner air. I will return shortly." He tried to keep the sarcasm from his voice as he uttered the title and stressed the word cleaner, but he doubted Longbottom was wise enough to notice. Draco spun on a heel and fled.

Harry's heart felt like a fistful of dust as he watched Draco leave the hall. He had half a mind to shove Zabini away from him, but he simply didn't have the energy. His wound throbbed from his short trip down the steps, even though Ron and Zabini had assisted him.

He had rationalized that it was for the best. He and Draco were doomed, regardless. Draco would have to leave and go back to London, eventually. They were destined to part. Better to do it now, before it had begun. Harry had more than himself to think of, there was also the welfare of Ron, Hermione, and Neville to consider. Exposing himself meant exposing them, as well.

But Draco's face. Lord, he had looked so betrayed and so… hurt. It had taken every iota of Harry's willpower to meet his gaze and then casually raise his glass to gulp his wine. He wished it were poison.

"That wasn't so bad," Zabini said conversationally and toyed with Harry's eating knife. He poked at the untouched meat on Harry's plate and speared a slice. "You should eat, my lord. You'll need your strength for later."

Harry got to his feet, not caring that a protesting twinge shot through his side. Zabini nearly fell off the bench in surprise.

"I might have behaved dishonourably in the past," Harry snarled at him, "But I never felt dishonourable. Until now."

With that, he got up and stormed out of the hall. He needed to find Draco and explain. Better to die than let Draco believe himself betrayed.

Harry entered the courtyard just in time to see Draco gallop through the gates mounted on Kreacher, riding like demons were on his heels.

Draco let the horse have his head, riding as fast as possible in the growing darkness. He knew he could not ride far at this pace without risking a broken limb on his horse, but he needed to get away as quickly as possible. If not, he might actually kill the pretender lord and his dark-skinned consort.

Draco slapped his hand against his thigh angrily, causing Kreacher to leap sideways, nearly unseating him. Draco barely noticed.

The bastard! Had Tensbury been toying with him all along? Was Draco simply another conquest?

Draco wished he could close off his thoughts and cling to the anger alone, but as the distance grew between him and Tensbury Keep, he found his rage dissipating. He slowed Kreacher to a walk and began to look for a place to spend the night. Bandits still lurked in outlying areas, waiting for the unwary. He had wisely grabbed a sword and dagger before leaving, but bandits seldom travelled alone.

He tried to orient himself and, thankfully, recalled a woodsman's hut a mere hour's ride farther on.

Draco spent a miserable night on a hard cot, tossing, turning, and brooding. How could he have been such a miserable judge of character? How could he have been so unutterably foolish? And how the hell was he supposed to return to his father and let him know he had failed?

Even worse, how could he regret losing Harry before he had even begun to know him?

In the morning, Draco woke, shivering and angry. Rage had returned with the dawn and he wanted nothing more than revenge on Tensbury. For everything. Why was he running? Tensbury was the one at fault. He was the bloody liar and charlatan and cock teasing bastard.

Besides, it was a long way back to London and he had stupidly brought no provisions. He decided to return to Tensbury Keep, give the false Sir Blackfell a piece of his mind, prepare more adequately for a journey, and return to his father. He would most likely be sent to some other lord as squire—hopefully someone more worthy.

So deciding, Draco ignored his growling stomach, saddled Kreacher, and headed back toward Tensbury Keep.

By the time Dobby was saddled, Draco was long gone. Harry ignored those who shouted at him to wait and take a proper escort—namely Ron and Neville—and bolted through the gates in the direction Draco had gone.

There was no sign of the blond, so Harry could only assume that he was headed for London and his father.

He rode long and hard, but finally realized the fruitlessness of trying to follow his quarry in the dark. He would have better luck in the morning when he could at least search for some sign of Draco's passing.

His wound his had reopened and was beginning to soak through his bandage. He mentally thanked Molly for shoving a packet of food at him before he left. That and the sleeping pallet George had attached to his saddle made sleeping in the wilderness a more bearable prospect.

He rolled the woollen blankets out on the ground after locating a relatively soft patch of grass, and then nibbled on a hard piece of white cheese and some bread. It sated his hunger enough to lie down and try to rest. His wound plagued him, but he dared not check it in the dark without access to fresh water and the ability to change the dressing.

He sent up a prayer for Draco's safety, rolled himself in his blankets, and tried to sleep.

Dawn found him already mounted and riding determinedly toward London. He had half-expected to be overtaken by Ron and a party of his men during the night, but it was possible he had veered from the path the night before. They might have bypassed him entirely.

Sometime near midday, Harry was surprised to see a rider approaching. He was even more surprised to discover it was Draco. He spurred Dobby forward with a glad cry, but his excitement died a swift death at the sight of Draco's angry face.

"Tensbury!" Draco yelled, snarling the name. "Or should I call you Harry, since you are nothing but a wretched commoner?"

"Well, then, just Harry, dismount and face the wrath of a prince." With that, Draco leaped off of Kreacher and drew his sword.

Harry had a sick feeling of inevitability, as though everything in his life had been destined to lead to this moment. Perhaps it was fated that he should die by Draco's hand, and perhaps he deserved it for what he had done.

He dismounted carefully, trying not to favour his left side, knowing Draco would use it to his advantage, regardless. They stepped away from the horses and Harry drew his own blade.

Draco lunged forward quickly and Harry countered his attack. Even the gentlest movement pulled at his side.

The statement did not seem to appease Draco. "Why did you come after me? Hoping to silence me? Do you really think my father won't discover all of your little secrets?"

"Of course he will," Harry replied. "If you don't kill me, I plan to send a letter to him myself, confessing all."

Draco sneered, obviously rejecting his words as lies. Their blades clashed again, several times, and Harry found it increasingly difficult to counter the thrusts and blows. It was hard to retaliate when he had no desire to hurt Draco—his movements were defensive only.

"You are ever so noble," Draco snarled, stepping back for a moment to catch his breath. Harry gave up on subtlety and pressed his left arm closely to his side, trying to minimize the bleeding. "Why did you come after me, then, Harry?"

"Obviously the same as you feel about that wretched bard!" Draco yelled. "Anything with a pretty arse, eh?" He leaped forward again. By the time the attack ended, Harry bled from a nick on his cheek and panted with exertion.

"Absolutely not!" Harry snapped through gasping breaths. "Zabini forced me to act as though I had betrayed you and I was foolish enough to give in to his coercion. I allowed my own fear--and shame--to rule my actions."

Draco sneered again. "He forced you? How did he manage that? What sort of coercion did he use?"

"He recognized me," Harry admitted. His knees trembled and he fought the urge to let them buckle. He knew chasing after Draco had not been the wisest course of action and fighting him had been even more foolish, but the prince was likely going to run him through, anyway. "He saw me at a tournament, years ago, with my master."

The angry expression on Draco's face faltered and then changed to puzzlement as awareness dawned. "He recognized you as a commoner?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, and I have more to consider than merely myself. There is Ron and Hermione and Neville. They have been part of my duplicity from the beginning and will suffer the consequences with me unless I manage to spare them somehow. And yet, despite that, I was motivated by selfishness."

Draco's blade had lowered and he no longer seemed quite as willing to skewer Harry. "Go on," he said.

"I foolishly hoped that although you might hate me for pretending to dally with your feelings, you might yet remain with me as my squire, because then you would still be near me." Harry laughed self-deprecatingly. "I know you have to leave, eventually. I just wanted to put that day off as long as possible." Harry sighed at Draco's blank demeanor, once again the stolid mask of a prince, giving away nothing. He plunged on, needing to get the words out regardless of their reception. "I will never be worthy of you, Draco. Even if I were a true noble, you are far above my station. As a simple commoner, I am even less so."

Harry sank to one knee, trying to make it look intentional rather than allowing that he was ready to collapse entirely. He planted the tip of his sword into the ground and gripped the hilt tightly for support. His other hand held tightly to his bleeding injury.

"I don't know why I came after you," he said finally. "To clear my conscience, I suppose, and let you know the truth." He raised his eyes wearily and looked into Draco's visage. He smiled ruefully and added, "But I would rather die by your hand than any other way. I won't fight you again, my prince. My Draco."

He pulled his blade from the ground and tossed it at Draco's feet before bowing his head to await Draco's decision, be it acceptance or the final blow.

Draco felt Harry sag in his arms for a moment, and then he was wrapped in a crushing embrace.

"There is no one but you," Harry said. "Not ever." He buried his face in Draco's neck and Draco felt soft lips press a kiss to his pulse point. Harry trembled and Draco suddenly remembered his tunic was wet with blood. Fuck, Harry had opened his wound coming after him and had doubtless made it worse fighting him.

He caught the horses and helped Harry mount Dobby. Draco was alarmed at Harry's pallor and hoped he did not faint before they reached the woodsman's cabin. Luckily, it wasn't far.

By the time the cabin came into view, Harry was slumped over his saddle, obviously hanging on by willpower alone.

Draco helped him inside. Harry leaned against the wall while Draco spread blankets on the hard cot after removing the items from Harry's horse. He was slightly puzzled at how the man had managed to rush after him and yet still bring provisions.

When the bed was remotely less uncomfortable, Draco guided Harry to it and then helped peel off his tunic. Harry sprawled on the bed while Draco unwrapped the blood-soaked bandages.

"Damn it, why did you do this to yourself?" Draco demanded when the wound was exposed.

Luckily, a small spring outside that had been dammed to provide plenty of fresh water. Draco built a fire and heated some water in an earthenware bowl that lay near the fire pit. He bathed Harry's wound and then re-applied more of the salve that Molly had apparently thrust upon Harry prior to his departure—which would also explain the food and bedding.

Draco made a mental note to do something special for that woman when they returned. He bandaged the wound with strips torn from the woolen blankets after packing some fresh St. John's Wort atop it to ward off fever. Harry definitely did not need his fever to return.

When Draco finished, he sat back on his haunches with a sigh and then gnawed his lip for a moment. If he had not been so impulsive, Harry would not be in this state.

Harry's hand dropped to the edge of the bed, palm up. His fingers stretched as though in entreaty. Draco spared a glance at Harry's face and was ensnared by the intensity of the green eyes. Wordlessly, he lifted his hand and placed it over Harry's open palm. Warm fingers closed around his and tugged gently.

Draco allowed himself to be pulled forward until he leaned over Harry and touched their lips together. It was a tentative pressure, almost a tease, although teasing was the last thing on Draco's mind. Apparently, Harry agreed, for he pushed one hand into Draco's hair and deepened the kiss in the same motion. Draco's lips opened and he allowed Harry's tongue inside, welcoming it with his own.

The kiss changed, becoming something Draco had never experienced, something intense and beyond imagining. Harry moaned and panted against his lips, never quite breaking the kiss as they gasped for air before diving in once more.

The wooden edge of the cot dug painfully into Draco's ribs and his contorted position began to give him a muscle twinge. He levered himself upward and half-straddled Harry without breaking the kiss. The new position also allowed one hand to roam free over Harry's bare chest, caressing soft skin he had longed to touch during nights of mutual wanking.

Draco shut his eyes at the very thought of more, but he quickly moved his hand downward to tug at Harry's belt. Harry had taken off his boots while waiting for Draco to prepare the bed, so there was no resistance when Draco pushed away the woolen hosen to expose Harry's legs and--oh dear god--his cock. It jutted proudly from a thicket of dark curls, fully erect and livid.

Draco stared at it far longer than he should have, transfixed, but Harry did not move. He seemed to be holding his breath. The thought made Draco glance up quickly, to find Harry watching him with a worry line forming between his brows.

Draco forced a smile and then reached out to wrap his fingers around it. Harry made a guttural sound that was purely wondrous and Draco's smile stretched into one of genuine pleasure. Harry's cock was quite nice, not terrifying in the slightest, and they had not been struck dead at the touch. It felt nearly identical to his own, actually, similar in length and a bit thicker.

Draco suddenly wanted to taste it. The very idea gave him a heady rush and before he could think it over, he leaned down and swiped his tongue over the head.

Harry's reaction was astounding. He inhaled raggedly and a shiver seemed to travel through his entire body. Draco gave him a wicked grin and repeated the motion, with the same effect. Emboldened, he opened wide and took the whole of it into his mouth.

Draco released his cock and licked his lips. The hint of salt was not unpleasant. "Praying, Harry? At a time like this?"

"I thought it fitting," Harry replied. "Your mouth feels like a gift from heaven."

Draco chuckled throatily and enveloped it once more. He had a grand time eliciting a wide variety of responses from Harry as he lapped and sucked at it, but soon Harry said, "Wait!" He tugged at Draco's hair gently.

His voice was husky and full of emotion and Draco quickly shed his own clothing before sprawling next to Harry on the tiny cot. He wished briefly for Harry's large bed back at Tensbury, but such mundane thoughts fled the moment Harry's hand closed around his erection.

Bloody hell, it was amazing. Better than any woman's touch, surely. There was no timidity in Harry's grasp; his was a man's hand and he used it with practiced skill, stroking Draco while their panting breaths mingled before their lips met in another kiss.

Draco basked in the blissful hand movements for quite some time, until a thought occurred to him and he put his hand over Harry's to still the motion. Harry looked at him in puzzlement.

"There is more we can do, is there not?" Draco asked in a hushed tone. "I have heard… Well, servants are a rough lot. I have heard tales."

Draco nodded, scarcely able to accept what he suggested. He had thought of it, often, however. He wanted Harry's lovely cock inside of him, as deep as it would go, even though such an admission would never pass his lips on threat of being drawn and quartered.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He detested the thought of lying on his back like a woman, and it was equally disturbing to envision kneeling on all fours like a dog, or a slave. Harry was brilliant, he decided.

He immediately turned around to face the wall, spooning against Harry's warm length as the pretender knight coiled around him and drew him close with an arm around his waist. Harry placed soft kisses on the back of Draco's neck. "You're a fucking pagan god, you are," Harry murmured. "Like the forbidden statues in Rome, some of them so beautiful they take your breath away."

The sentiment warmed Draco far more than it should have and he twined his fingers through Harry's for a moment and squeezed.

Harry held his grip for a moment and then let go to slide his hand down Draco's side to curve over his hip and cup one buttock. He paused only a moment before slipping his fingers between Draco's crack and touching the place that should have felt utterly wrong, but instead it sent a jolt of pleasure galloping through Draco's flesh.

"We just need something slick. Butter," he said hoarsely. Harry gasped, but quickly reached round to the floor where the provisions packet lay open. Lovely Molly had wrapped a generous square of sweet butter in oilcloth, no doubt intending for Harry to spread it upon his bread. Draco nearly laughed, picturing her face if she discovered the use to which they were about to put it.

His amusement dissipated when Harry's buttery slick fingers touched him again. Merciful heavens, it was incredible. Draco's legs parted and he pushed himself into a better position, hoping to make it easier for Harry to continue the delicious motions.

Draco gasped as Harry pushed one finger inside. His muscles clenched at the unfamiliar sensation, but Harry refused to move, pressing gentle kisses on Draco's nape until he relaxed. He moved it slowly in and out, getting Draco used to the motion. It felt odd, to say the least, but not unpleasant.

Harry obediently pressed in another digit. It was almost painful, but Harry was gentle, easing his fingers in and out, preparing him, until Draco could stand it no longer.

Draco shut his eyes, overwhelmed by Harry's very nature. How had Draco ever doubted him? Any other man would have taken what Draco offered without question, with barely a concern for the pain he might inflict. Even now, Harry was more concerned with Draco's feelings.

He reached back and touched Harry's wrist lightly. He was far from certain. In fact, he was nearly terrified, but he kept his voice steady. "Yes, Harry. Yes."

Lips pressed into the back of his neck, almost reverently, and then a smooth hardness pushed gently against Draco's entrance. He relaxed as much as possible, leaning back into Harry's embrace.

The pressure was intense, and then painful. He gasped at the sensation as Harry filled him completely, moving slowly but inexorably. Draco quivered in Harry's grasp, and felt a hand soothing his hip in a circular motion.

Harry barely moved, pulling out the tiniest bit and then rocking forward. Draco forced himself to relax. He trusted Harry implicitly, which made it easier. It was, however, a far cry from the lovely sensation he had envisioned in his fantasies.

Harry did not stop moving after his few initial, tentative thrusts, as if to stop would cause physical pain. His pace increased and Draco found the discomfort lessening and changing to something quite… pleasant.

Draco braced his hands against the wall and arched back into Harry, who moaned at the altered position. His butter-slick hand left Draco's hip and reached around to grasp his cock, squeezing gently.

Oh god, it was bliss. He stroked the length of it and Draco groaned his name, basking in the delicious sensation. Harry kept up his movements, timing each thrust with a tug on Draco's aching cock while he pressed biting kisses into the curve of Draco's neck.

Draco murmured his name with every brilliant stroke, which seemed to spur Harry to an even greater frenzy. The impending climax was incredible—like nothing Draco had ever felt. He actually screamed when he came, unable to contain the explosive sensation.

He vaguely felt Harry quiver around him as shudders rocked them both. Harry's arm moved up and wrapped around Draco's chest, pulling him closer while he murmured incomprehensible phrases against Draco's neck. They were both drenched with sweat and Draco worried suddenly that Harry had started his wound bleeding again, yet he felt too drained to move.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked in a concerned tone, and that did cause Draco to move. He rolled over, feeling Harry's length slide out in a not-unpleasant way. He rolled over to face the black-haired man and smoothed the worry lines from his forehead with a gentle touch of his fingers.

"If I tell you it was the best thing I've ever felt, you will get a swollen ego," Draco admitted.

Harry chuckled at Draco's words. "I already have a swollen ego just because you are here with me," he admitted.

Draco kissed him. Their tongues twined pleasantly for some time as they tasted fully of one another. Harry thought he would never tire of doing so, but eventually Draco pulled away with a worried look.

Harry grinned. "Our activities don't seem to have affected it, thankfully. I should hate to swear off of that for any length of time."

Draco snorted, but then nodded in agreement. He crawled over Harry and cleaned them both up with the remaining tepid water.

"We should go back to Tensbury where you can rest properly," Draco said as he dressed.

Draco rolled his eyes. "No. I, for one, refuse to spend another night on that rock-hard monstrosity. I never thought I would find myself missing my pallet at home…" He trailed off and his eyes widened.

Harry sat up gingerly and reached for Draco's hand. "Draco," he said earnestly. "I know it is presumptuous of me to ask you this, especially as you are a prince of the blood and I am just an unworthy commoner…" Harry swallowed hard and then dropped Draco's hand with an oath. "What am I asking? I am going to be arrested and beheaded by your father when he finds out I've lied. I am nothing!"

Draco said, "We will deal with Blaise Zabini when we return. If I have to pay him off, I shall. It took me some time to accept that nobility does not come with a bloodline, Harry, but I have found that quality in you. What were you going to ask?"

Harry swallowed hard and covered Draco's hand with his own before sliding it over to press a soft kiss to Draco's fingertips. "I was going to ask you to stay with me. Not as my squire, but as my companion. My lover. My everything."

Surprisingly, Draco laughed. "I don't know, Harry. The priesthood is full of virile young men, you know."

Harry bit his fingertips in mock anger and Draco laughed again, dragging a grin from Harry's lips. They chuckled together for a moment and then the mirth left Draco's handsome face.

They met Ron, Neville, and a contingent of soldiers from Tensbury shortly after departing the woodsman's cabin. Ron galloped forward with a shout of glee.

"Harry! Thank heavens! We lost your trail last night and had to make camp! I see you found the hot-tempered brat."

Ron sneered at him, but then grinned. "Well, I hate to admit it, but I would have missed having your sorry arse around to torment. You're coming back with us, yeah?"

Harry smiled as Draco nodded. "How can I resist the lure of seeing your face each day? It reminds me of a lovely meadow studded with cow droppings."

Ron gave him a rude gesture and Harry laughed. "Enough!" he said. "Let us go home. I am more than ready for Molly's cooking."

Harry leaned on Draco as they made their way into the hall where Molly scolded and fussed over him appropriately, but was quickly sidetracked by Harry's request for a decent meal.

They had all eaten and the soldiers returned to their duties before Draco commented, "I haven't seen Zabini since our return. Where do you suppose he's gone?"

Harry frowned, having wondered the same. "I don't know, but his absence is almost ominous. You don't suppose he left to report to your father, do you?"

Draco shrugged. "If so, then we shall deal with whatever comes. Fear not, Harry, I will not allow you to be taken away from me. Not even by my own father."

Draco snorted. "Don't be overly dramatic, Harry. I'll knight you myself, and that will be the end of it."

Harry blinked at him, having completely forgotten that Draco possessed the power to do so. It would not erase Harry's lies, but at least he would feel better about his position amongst his people.

The Weasley twins sauntered in and sat down on either side of Draco with a familiarity that surprised Harry. He had thought Draco and the twins to be archenemies.

Fred and George looked at each other as though trying to recall the exact time. They both shook their heads.

"Upset." Harry often felt like a parrot around the twins, but it always seemed to speed up the tale.

"Aye. Viktor Krum stopped in right after you lot left. You know, that Romanian trader?"

Harry nodded. Krum was a wanderer who travelled far and wide collecting and trading bizarre odds and ends. He had stopped in on his way to Scotland just before Draco's arrival.

"And 'e 'ad a very fine cow to trade. Didn't want to drag the thing all the way to Arabia, now did 'e?"

"We did 'im a favour, takin' the cow off 'is 'ands like that." The twins nodded solemnly.

Draco spewed the wine he'd been drinking across the table. Harry should have warned him about drinking liquid while talking to the twins. It could be life-threatening.

Fred nodded. "Krum wanted an outlandish sum for the cow. We didn't 'ave no money, so we told 'im about Zabini."

Fred snickered. "We mentioned that Zabini'd be a good companion in more ways than one." He nudged Draco with an elbow and earned a glare.

Harry suppressed a chuckle, but Draco's upraised hand prompted George to continue the tale. "Well, Krum said 'e didn't want to 'ave to keep the bloke tied the 'ole way, so we suggested that Krum 'ave a little chat with Zabini and show off 'is… merchandise."

Both twins erupted into gales of laughter. Harry was perplexed until Fred said, "You know 'ow Romanians are. They'll sleep with anythin'."

"Anyway, Krum took our advice and spent a bit o' time with Zabini inside 'is tent. When they came out, Zabini gave us both a coin, thanked us, and packed 'is belongings." Fred frowned. "Seemed right 'appy, actually."

George nodded and smirked. "That 'e did. Oh, 'e left a message for you, Sir Blackfell. What was it, Fred?"

"Cor, George, you never remember nuthin'. A poem, it was. 'Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, bygones be bygones, let 'em lay where they must.' I think it's stupid."

Harry drew in a surprised breath and met Draco's gaze. Bygones? Did that mean Zabini was willing to let it lie?

"Well, 'e told me 'e was off to Arabia to play in the palaces o' the Sultans," George added. "You can remember the damn poem. I recall that bit."

Harry felt a huge smile split his lips and he suddenly felt like dancing. His eyes held Draco's, suddenly full of promise. "I need to go lie down," he said softly. "Draco, will you accompany me?"

Draco helped him to his feet and they went upstairs, ignoring the amused chatter of the twins behind them. Unfortunately, they were interrupted before Draco could do more than undress Harry and tuck him into bed with some judicious fondling, but when night fell they made up for many nights of solitary wanking.