{chap4} Servitude PG-13
Servitude
Summary - [AU: late 1600s] Accused of petty thievery, Ronald Weasley is shipped off to America, where in Virginia he is bought as an indentured servant to the Malfoys.
Warning - SLASH. Don't like, don't read. Everyone is OOC. Historical inaccuracy may occur.
Disowner - I own neither history nor Harry Potter, just this measly fanfic of mine.
Mid-Winter 1672
Chapter 4 - Hide in Shame
Through the depths of the night, where nothing but the moon shines and not a one dares to stir, there is a presence beside Ron who is indeed brazen enough to wake in the midst of darkness. Young Malfoy is shaking his shoulder gruffly. Upon remembering that the young man is his master, and that he owns a blade, Ron awoke immediately.
"My Father has just arrived," Draco begins whispering urgently in his ear. Ron listens, completely dumb and only barely awake. "I had not expected him so soon. He will check upon me. Hide in your regular quarters, now!"
Ron only vaguely remembers the appearance of his own bed, before he began to share Draco's chamber. Upon seeing Ron's confusion, Draco lets out an aggravated sigh.
"Allow me to show you," Draco hisses into his ear, almost wantonly. The two bodies stumble out of bed, their silhouettes both clearly so stalwart and male. His master is leading him to the wooden cupboard in the corner. Looking past the various shirts and trousers it stores, Ron could make out the outline of another door.
"Go!"
And Ron goes. He stumbles down a short corridor and into a petite little room. There lays his cot next to huddles of other sleeping bodies, all bound up in a room where they've slept in forever, and where Ron had slept thrice.
Barely awake, Ron obeys Draco's orders and pummels back into sleep.
Ron should deduce that Draco would not want his company during breakfast, as had previously been regularly demanded, but he thinks that he ought to check nevertheless. As he enters the kitchen, he spots a man who resembles Draco but with a face a thousand times more severe. Pettigrew begins frantically gesturing that he must be gone immediately, however Ron is too slow.
"Boy, come here," The man ordered. His voice was firm and confident, much like Draco's. But Draco's voice would always echo in his ears, night after night, because it carries Draco's delicacy and Draco's unforgiving character with it. Ron could not picture this man's voice ever having that effect.
He obeys. Within seconds, he stood before the senior Malfoy. Draco is seated beside his father, his distant eyes cleverly swallowing the heated fury Ron could detect. Ron remains still as the tall, austere aristocrat surveys him.
"I do not recall making this purchase," The man murmurs. "He is an indentured lad?"
"Yes, Father," Draco replies coolly. They are both conversing with each other, and yet neither one of them dares take his eyes off Ron.
"And what does he do?"
"He chops firewood, runs errands, and cleans the property of wild animals and savages," Draco responds readily. "I understand, Father, that I could have requested one of your servants. However, this boy is strong and capable. His servitude was bought at a good price. Therefore I did not see reason to trouble you."
The last bit is a lie. Ron had been bought at an abnormally high price. He fully remembers how the bag jingled of gold.
The man speaks slowly, but surly. "A fine step toward independence, Draco, and a good choice of purchase. I trust this good judgment will not fail you when you take over the plantations."
"Hardly, Father."
"Good. You are dismissed, boy."
"He came merely to survey the land, nothing more. It is routine to him."
Ron says nothing in return. It is the following evening, one without intruders and set back to their customary bedroom setting. What peeves Ron particularly is that he could not bring himself to feel anger anymore. With each passing day, it is as if Draco is stealing another chunk of his dignity until he has nothing to be angered over altogether. Anger was his greatest source of energy before, when he resided in London. Now that it is taken away from him, Ron feels wholly Draco's servant, because now he could even control Ron's emotions.
"Remove your shirt, Ron." He does as he is told.
Draco seems far more desperate that particular night than ever before. He never insinuated that he wanted either of them to remove his clothing before. But suddenly he is pulling Ron on top of him, parting his legs in such a way that allows Ron to melt into him undisturbed.
"Kiss me," Draco says, "this instant."
It is not like his master to be rough. Not that Draco is particularly gentle, however his manners would follow him everywhere he went. At this very moment, however, Draco is practically hauling Ron onto him, demanding that he receive more. He has a certain agility to him that makes Ron ache. Oh, this boy could hurt so many with such an angelic face.
"Listen to me, servant," Draco emerges from the kiss, growling, "You are lower than me, so much lower. You are the ground. You are filth-"
Ron simply stares at him, not knowing how he should respond. He continues to remain on top of Draco, completely vulnerable and half nude, as his master spews out insults.
"You are lying to me," Draco begins to whisper fervently, holding onto Ron with his pretty, white hands, "You cannot remain with me…"
His grip becomes painful. Ron does not want to fight back, but he wishes to escape. He begins to pull back, but Draco demands, "Listen to me. I shall never love you, no matter how well you obey me."
As if Ron's frightened eyes are those of consent, Draco kisses him once again and turns them both on their sides. He reaches for his blade, but instead of cutting Ron, he carefully engraves his own skin at the shoulder, so that Ron could watch. The cut is thin as lace and is corrupting Draco's skin with a bloodstain. But Ron is not ordered to clean it. He attempts to fall asleep to the fleshy scent of Draco's blood.