Chapter Text
Crown Prince Draco was exhausted. His father, the King, had buried him under a mountain of studies—military strategy, economics, diplomacy—and the constant, unspoken expectation to excel at all of them. Every lesson was a test, every test a performance for a court he suspected was waiting for him to falter.
At first, he’d met the challenge with fierce determination, desperate to prove every doubting word wrong, to make his mother’s quiet pride shine, and to be more than just his title. But the relentless pace had worn him to a thread. Sleep became a luxury; leisure, a forgotten dream. Even the simple pleasure of reading for his own pleasure, his hobby, had been stolen by mountains of scrolls.
When he’d finally dared voice his exhaustion to the King, he was met only with a cold reminder of his duty. A ruler bears the weight without complaint.
As if his father had ever done anything truly remarkable!
Fed up, Draco had slipped away one night to steal a moment under the stars, to simply breathe. But the second he passed the castle’s outer wall, a strong arm locked around his throat from behind, cutting off his air and his cry. The stars swam, then vanished into blackness.
He woke in a panic, his heart hammering against his ribs. The ceiling was wood, looking rustic, and the air smelled of pine and earth, not flowers. Dread, cold and heavy, pooled in his gut as his vision cleared to reveal a group of strangers looming over him.
The man in front was tall and intimidating, with jagged scars on his face and a piercing glare, shone, and made fiercer by brilliant green eyes. A sob hitched in Draco’s throat. Kidnapped. The Crown Prince, taken like a commoner leaving a tavern!
The sheer indignity!
“You’re awake,” the man said, his voice hard. “I’m Harry Potter.”
Draco, his hands bound, managed a stiff, regal nod—a vestige of his training.
Potter’s eyes flashed. “That’s it? Use your mouth to speak, Prince.”
“M-My apologies,” Draco stammered weakly, another sob escaping. “What would you have me say, Mr. Potter?”
Potter clicked his tongue in disgust. “Of course. A prince from that rotten kingdom is a disrespectful brat.”
“I’m sorry…” Draco whispered, tears falling freely now. Was this it? A grimy end in a stranger’s ugly room? He hadn’t finished the latest volume of his favorite novel! He’d done nothing but study and perform his duty! He was only eighteen! To die so young, so beautiful, so unaccomplished! It was cosmically unfair!
“Stop crying!” Potter barked.
The command only made Draco cry harder, his shoulders shaking. “I know!” he suddenly wailed, the frustration of a lifetime bursting forth. “I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t choose to be a prince! Please, don’t kill me!”
“I’m not—oh, for Gods sake!” Potter ran a hand through his messy hair, looking desperately over his shoulder. “Hermione? Ron? A little help!”
A woman with bushy brown hair stepped into view, frowning. “You’re terrifying him, Harry.”
A lanky, red-haired man peeked behind her. “Dude, he’ll choke on his own tears. Calm him down.”
“Are you really a prince?” Potter asked, turning back to Draco with a mix of anger and utter bewilderment.
“I am!” Draco hiccupped. “My father is King Lucius, my mother Queen Narcissa—oh, Mother, save me—”
“Stop! Stop!” Potter stomped his foot. “You are a royal! How can you—“
“I KNOW, OKAY? I KNOW!” Draco screamed, then dissolved into frantic, breathless bawling.
“Alright! Alright! Hush!” Potter waved his hands in surrender. “Just… stop the noise!”
Draco’s cries subsided into pitiful sniffles. He stared up, waiting.
“Honestly, give him some food or something,” the man named Ron suggested.
At the word ‘food,’ Draco’s crying ceased entirely. He blinked wet lashes. “Seafood, please. If you have any.” He sniffed.
Potter stared, dumbfounded. “Excuse me?”
Draco flinched. “I-if you’re not going to kill me, the least you can do is feed your prisoner. I’m hungry. And I’d like to sleep.”
“You—” Potter began, his face flushing with rage.
Draco recoiled, a fresh wail building. “I’m sorry!”
“NO! No more crying!” Potter shouted, then deflated. “Fine! Fine. Seafood and a bed. Got it.”
Draco went silent. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Potter grumbled, sighing deeply. “Now, follow me.”
“How?” Draco asked quietly.
“What?”
“My hands and feet are tied, Mr. Potter. I can’t stand.” He gave a feeble wiggle against the ropes.
“He has a point, Harry,” the woman, Hermione, said.
“Yeah, can’t just order him to walk like that,” Ron added.
“Oh, shut up, both of you!” Potter snapped. He strode over to Draco and loomed above him. “Don’t move.”
Before Draco could protest, powerful hands seized him and hoisted him effortlessly over a broad shoulder like a sack of grain.
“Wait! I can walk! Just untie me!” Draco yelled, the blood rushing to his head.
“I said, shut up!” Potter barked, carrying him out of the room.
“Potter!” Draco shouted, dignity returning in a burst of outrage. “I am still a prince! You can’t just—”
“A prince who wails like an infant!” Potter shot back.
“You kidnapped me! Anyone would cry! Now, put me down!” Draco kicked his bound legs futilely.
“We’re almost there, Your Majesty. Highness. The crown prince. So. Be. Quiet.” On the last word, Potter shouldered open a door and unceremoniously dumped Draco onto a narrow but soft bed.
Draco gasped as he bounced. He glared up, a spark of his old haughtiness returning. “Now. Untie me.”
Potter let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Five minutes ago, you were begging for your life. Now you’re giving orders?”
Draco’s bravado faltered. He averted his eyes. “Sorry, Mr. Kidnapper.”
“You know my name, Prince,” Potter said, his tone dangerous.
Draco, unable to help himself, rolled his eyes.
“You dare roll your eyes at me?!”
“My apologies, Mr. Potter,” Draco said, layering the words with a thin, false sweetness.
“Hah! You royals are all the same.”
“Obviously,” Draco muttered under his breath. “We share the same bloodline.”
“What did you say?” Potter leaned down, his face inches away.
“Nothing,” Draco said quickly, lifting his bound wrists. “Would you please untie these?”
Potter stared at him for a long, tense moment before sighing in exasperation. He knelt and began working at the knots. “Pathetic prince,” he mumbled.
“Sor-ry,” Draco dragged the word out, thick with annoyance.
Once freed, Draco rubbed his sore wrists. Potter pointed a stern finger at him. “You wait here for your food. If you dare step one foot out of this room…” He drew a sharp line across his own throat.
Draco gulped, the fear returning in a cold trickle. He nodded. “Of course, Mr. Potter.”
He watched his captor leave, the door shutting with a firm thud. Alone, the Prince curled on the bed, a confusing storm of terror, indignation, and utter exhaustion raging inside him. At least, he thought with a glimmer of pathetic hope, they might bring scallops.
꧁ ༺♔ ༻ ꧂
Food, drink, a comfortable bed, even books—Potter and his companions never failed to bring something to indulge him.
"Satisfied, Your Highness?" Potter asked through gritted teeth as he deposited a tray of pastries.
Draco nodded, shoving a cake into his mouth. "Your hospitality is a solid ten out of ten."
"Oh, is that so?!" Potter glared, but Draco ignored him. It had been days since his kidnapping, and while this room was nowhere near the size of his chambers in the castle, it was undeniably charming. It had windows and a small balcony from which he could watch the sky. A decent-sized bathroom connected to it, offering a view of a sprawling garden. But most importantly, the room had bookshelves—built into the wall, waiting to be filled!
By heaven, Draco thought, why did no one tell him how wonderful it was to be kidnapped?
"Prince Draco," Potter called, his tone shifting from irritable to serious.
Draco put down his plate. "Yes?"
"We've fulfilled your requests. Now, it's time for you to pay your dues." Potter finished by taking a seat across from him.
Draco blinked. "What? So you're going to kill me after my afternoon tea?"
"Kill you? No!" Potter looked genuinely taken aback. "Why do you keep—ugh! If I wanted you dead, why would I go through all this trouble?"
"Oh. Right." Draco refilled his teacup and took a sip. "So? What do you want? Gold? Land?" Potter shook his head.
Draco hummed, thinking, then snapped his fingers. "My blood?"
"What? Why would I—" Potter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I told you, I don't want to kill you, Prince."
Draco shrugged. "Alright. But if you want it, just say so. I don't mind sharing, after all you've given me."
"Hah? Why would anyone want your blood?"
Draco paused to stare at him. "You kidnapped me, and you didn't even know?"
"Know what?"
Draco huffed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Tsk, tsk. Kidnappers nowadays. All brute force and no research." He folded his arms and took a theatrical breath. "I am a Malfoy! A royal line blessed by the gods! My birth was—"
Potter stretched out a hand, palm open, cutting him off. "Oh, that. I've heard the stories."
Draco shut his mouth. "You have?"
Potter nodded. "The Malfoys being a 'chosen' line. Something, something."
"That's right!" Draco puffed out his chest. "I've been chosen, which is why my blood is precious—"
"It's a lie," Potter interjected flatly. "The Malfoys are just another royal family. Nothing more." His expression was utterly deadpan.
"A lie?!" Draco stammered, his face growing hot. "How dare—"
Potter's mouth twitched at the corner, the ghost of a smile threatening to break through.
"Don't you dare laugh at me!" Draco shouted, leaping to his feet. "Accusing a royal of falsehood is a capital offense!"
Potter blinked, then smirked. "And what's the penalty for kidnapping one? Hmm?"
Draco froze. "Uh—" Shit. He'd forgotten.
"Well—" He looked away, retracting his pointed finger. "P-probably also your head?" he muttered, clearing his throat.
Potter laughed, a real, unrestrained sound that shook his shoulders. He covered his face with his hand.
"Stop laughing, Mr. Potter!" Draco ordered, to no effect.
"Ugh! Just tell me what you need me to do! Hmph!" He flopped back onto the sofa, crossing his arms. "Stupid kidnapper."
Potter wiped his eyes, as if swallowing the last of his amusement. "What else do they call you, besides that 'chosen one' nonsense?"
Draco glared. "If you're just going to make fun of me, I won't tell!"
Potter sighed and leaned back. "Let me think…" He snapped his fingers. "Ah, yes. The prodigy. The wise one. The kingdom's greatest strategist—"
"Very funny, Potter," Draco sneered.
"—The seer. The golden brain. The divine messenger—"
"Okay, now you're just making things up," Draco sighed. "Stop."
"Isn't that what everyone does? Spout bullshit about the Malfoy family?" Potter grinned.
Draco gasped, scandalized. "Bullshit?! About my family?! How dare you!"
"Yeah, yeah," Potter chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. "Anyway. I need you to look at this." He pushed a stack of documents across the table.
Draco hummed and picked them up, his expression shifting to one of professional scrutiny. "A road and bridge construction proposal?" He glanced at Potter, who nodded. "Hmm. This needs more data." He set the papers down.
"Data?" Potter asked.
"Yes, data. You can't just build a road or a bridge without surveying the landscape. Poor planning leads to cost overruns or, worse, structural failure. A proper survey informs both the budget and the material selection," Draco explained, his voice taking on a lecturing tone.
Potter hummed. "That's obvious."
"Then why are you showing it to me?!" Draco slapped a hand on the table.
Potter shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "To test if you can read." He deftly dodged the teacup Draco hurled at his head. It smashed into the wall.
"Now that was expensive, Your Highness."
"I don't care! Leave!" Draco folded his arms and turned to glare out the window.
"Pfft. Now, now. Don't pout—"
"I am not pouting, you stupid scarhead!" Draco whipped his glare back to Potter.
"Scarhead, huh." Potter rubbed his temple, then deliberately pushed his unruly curls back, revealing his scar more clearly. "That's a new one."
"Huh?"
"You can call me that."
"I'll call you whatever I want, Mr. Kidnapper!" Draco stuck out his tongue.
"Except for that one," Potter said, clicking his tongue. "Let's return to the documents. Is there anything else you want to add?" He gestured to the papers and raised an eyebrow.
Draco sighed, defeated. "I'll stab you with a teaspoon if you laugh at me again."
"Sure. Stab me, kick me, whatever you wish, Your Highness the Crown Prince."
Something in Potter's tone made Draco's heart give an odd little thump. He gripped the documents tighter.
"This," he said, pulling out a specific page and laying it flat. "The bridge blueprint is flawed. These supports and this arch are utterly wrong for the proposed location."
"Have you been there?"
Draco scowled. "Of course not. I've never left the capital before."
"Yeah. Until now," Potter nodded, his gaze fixed on the drawing.
"Yes, until—wait." Draco gawked. "Where are we?"
Potter lifted his head, his expression blank. "Did you really think I'd keep you in the capital?"
Draco's jaw went slack. "Where?!" He shot up and ran to the balcony. Outside was a beautiful garden under a stretch of blue sky. Below, he recognized roses, lilies, and lavender, alongside apple and peach trees. And… mango trees?
Mango? They didn't grow in the kingdom. They were imported.
"Scarhead! Where are we?!" He ran back inside, pointing an accusatory finger.
Potter merely raised a placating hand. "Wait. Why does this part need to change?" He pointed again at the blueprint.
Draco clicked his tongue and stomped over. "Because it's not structurally ideal—" He launched into a detailed explanation, only stopping when he was satisfied. He leaned back, a proud smile on his face.
See? I am a genius.
Potter bit his lip, a half-grin forming as he nodded.
Draco glared. "You—"
"No! I'm not making fun of you. You are indeed smart—"
"Genius!"
"Genius, yes, yes, Your Royal Highness." Potter gathered the documents and stood. "Thank you for the valuable input. I'll inform the others and gather the necessary data."
"Hmph! As you should!" Draco rolled his eyes and stared him down.
Potter raised an eyebrow. "Is there more, Prince?"
"No. But I require a reward. I don't work for free."
Potter fell silent for a moment. Draco's mind spiraled. Shit! He's a kidnapper! Is he going to punish me for being demanding? Oh, no, he's going to throw me in a dungeon!
"Please, not the dungeon! Just put me in a tower!"
"Fair enough," Potter said, his voice cutting through Draco's panic. "What do you want?"
Draco blinked. "Eh?"
Potter blinked back. "Dungeon? Tower?"
Draco shifted his gaze, clearing his throat. "Ah. I thought you'd jail me or something."
Potter frowned. "Why would I do that?"
Draco shrugged. "Well, you're a kidnapper, so…"
Potter sighed, stepped forward, and closed the distance between them. He stared down at Draco, pushing his hair back again. "One: don't call me that. Two: I did plan to reward you—"
"O-oh. Good, then," Draco stammered, suddenly unsure where to look. Did this man have no concept of personal space? He could smell the faint scent of Potter's sweat—and, annoyingly, something else like leather and pine. And what was with the hair? Just because he had a fairly nice face… Ugh. Stupid, barbaric kidnapper.
"—Three," Potter finished, his voice low. "You already are."
"Pardon?"
Potter smirked. "I wonder why a smart person like you hasn't realized it yet."
"Realized what?" Draco glared, refusing to back down.
Potter tilted his head, his green eyes holding Draco's. "That you, Prince Draco, are already in jail."
Draco gasped, a hand flying to his chest as if clutching nonexistent pearls.
Potter's smile widened for a final second before he turned away. "I'll bring your reward next time. In the meantime, enjoy your time in… jail!" He was out the door before Draco could protest.
"Hey! I haven't even told you what I want! Potter! Come back here!" Draco yelled, running to the door, but it was already locked. "Potter! You crude, stupid kidnapper! I want new books! More cakes! Seafood!"
"I knoooowww!" Potter's muffled voice echoed from the other side.
Draco huffed, satisfied with the confirmation. At least he wouldn't run out of luxuries.
"Me? In jail?" he mumbled, looking around the cozy, book-filled room. "This is supposed to be a jail? Huh?"
A startling thought occurred to him. If this was considered a jail, what did a normal room look like to these people? Something even more extravagant?
Draco plopped back onto the sofa, thinking hard.
Who exactly is Potter? How could he think a room like this is a prison? Is he even more foolish than I thought?
He sighed, then a slow grin spread across his face. "Well, whatever. As long as I don't have to do any more tedious royal tasks and can laze around all day reading… I don't mind whether this is a jail or not! Hah!"
He jumped up, ran to the bookshelf to check for any titles he might have missed, and then threw himself onto the bed, giggling into the pillows.