Redeem Me

DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play. Further Warning! This story...and likely any I ever write…are dominated by gay themes and characters. That's how it is, if this in any way makes you uncomfortable...do not read further.

Redeem Me…by Samayel

Author's Notes: Special Thanks to the 'Quill To Parchment Awards' Mods and Judges! This fic picked up multiple nominations, and won best Post-War, and came in as the runner up for Best Angst. I am very very proud ;-) I have adorable Banners, but hardly any sites allow them any more :-(

Chapter 1: Interrupted Musings, Interrupted Meal


Harry found himself brooding...again. The year since Voldemort’s defeat and destruction had been difficult in every way. He'd lost friends in the short ugly war that preceded his destruction of Tom Riddle, spent months hunting down left over Death Eaters and sympathizers for the Ministry, watched his few friends grow apart from him until there was scarcely room for him in their lives, and poured himself into magical studies to compensate for the loss of his seventh year at Hogwarts.

Loss and stress had made him quiet and grim, most particularly the loss of Albus Dumbledore. It had gnawed at him relentlessly since the end of sixth year, an aching reminder of how quickly evil could do irreparable damage. The deaths of Ginny, and later Hermione, had hurt him terribly, but not as profoundly as the loss of Dumbledore had, coming, as it had, on the heels of Sirius’ murder.

It was that, more than anything else, that had changed him. The world had needed a hero, and there had been no time for Harry to grieve. Even now, there were a few tattered remnants of old Death Eater covens still trying to blend into the background and escape the Ministry. Harry hounded them relentlessly, ceaseless in his quest for retribution, sure that he would be satisfied only when every last one of them was dead and buried.

It was better now. The battles were fewer and far less severe than at first. The initial fighting had been bad enough to leave a few scars on Harry that even magic couldn't cure. The shock of hair just above his left temple had been left white as snow by a near miss with an Unforgivable, so he let his hair grow long to cover most of it. Another curse had nearly taken off his leg, and the Healers had been quick and expert, but the scarring remained visible down most of his right thigh. These were just physical injuries, and Harry shrugged them off as quickly as they were healed, but the Healers had nothing that could salve his heart.

The press had taken to calling him Black Harry and Dumbledore's Revenge and other ridiculous names that had only a little to do with his wardrobe and a lot to do with his conduct. His black robes were perfect for the kind of work he had to do. Night raids on tiny cells of Death Eaters called for dark gear, but the nicknames came because of the dead or maimed Death Eaters that were often found in Harry’s wake. He was careful not to get caught red-handed…sometimes literally…and it was a fortunate thing that the Auror service discreetly approved of his actions, but fearful families that held sympathy for the slain had turned their voices to the press, sure that Harry was responsible…and they were right.

The Daily Prophet had actually changed their tune within months of Voldemort's death, going from calling him "The Savior Of The Wizarding World" to "a loose cannon with no conscience!" Not that Harry cared what the staff of the Prophet thought, since he held a special license granted by the Ministry, authorizing him to act as he saw fit where Death Eaters were involved. The fact that very few lived to see the inside of Azkaban didn't really bother him either. In Harry's book, a few dozen dead Death Eaters were just a good start.

The unfinished business with Snape and Malfoy still smarted even after more than a year. The last time Harry had seen either of them had been at Snape's trial at the Ministry. In the end, Snape had been absolved of guilt, since it was divulged that Dumbledore had been aware of the entire situation and had known the risks of being near Snape while the Unbreakable Oath was in effect. Malfoy had just sat in silence the entire time, apparently still in Snape's custody since their flight from Hogwarts months before.

Lucius Malfoy was killed in the final battle with Voldemort, Narcissa had suffered a complete breakdown and resided in St. Mungo’s, and with Draco implicated in a Death Eater plot and bearing the Dark Mark upon his arm, the Ministry had seized all lands and properties from the Malfoys. Draco's appearance at the trial was the first he'd made in months. The only thing Harry remembered about that day, other than blind rage at their being freed, was Draco's complete silence and lack of attitude. Harry couldn’t afford a public scene, and had just watched from a balcony, simmering with rage, while Snape, and a vaguely numb-looking Draco Malfoy, strolled out of the Ministry and back into world.

A few days later, he'd taken great pains to send a short message to Snape. It was a classic of brevity. Just three lines.

‘This island is mine. You have a week to get off of it. If I see you again, no potion will cure you. HP.’

Three days later, the rumor mill had it that Snape had made a few hasty goodbyes and left for Germany. Nothing was heard from or about Draco Malfoy since.

"Harrrrryyyy....come on down, love, dinner’s ready!" Molly Weasley's voice rang out from downstairs.

Harry looked at the clock and realized that he'd been lost in thought for nearly an hour. He put aside the books on Occlumency and Wandless Magic Theory that he'd been failing to actually read, and headed down to dinner.

The Burrow was his home now. Arthur and Molly had understood why he didn't want to live in Grimmauld Place after Sirius's death, and had taken him into their home cheerfully. They even shuffled the upstairs rooms so that Harry could have a small comfortable room of his own, with ample space for his work desk and books. Ron played Beater for the Cannons now, and visited whenever his schedule allowed, just like Fred and George, Bill and Fleur, Percy and Charlie.

Ginny. Poor Ginny had been killed outright in a terror strike by Death Eaters in the first days of the war. That tragedy had hung over all their lives ever since. Later, Hermione had been murdered in cold blood while in Diagon Alley, and it had taken almost a year for Ron to start his life again. Bill still wore his scars with pride, but they constantly reminded Harry of the night that Malfoy had breached Hogwarts’ defenses.

George now wore a more modern version of the magical eye that Mad-Eye Moody had used, owed to a curse explosion at their shop, which had been an early target in the war. At least the inventions, for which the twins were now famous, had paid off. They held a half dozen Ministry contracts, and supplied the Auror service, as well as Harry, with quite a few handy tricks. That coup had brought in a flood of money, enriching not only Fred and George, but Harry as well.

Most of the time, it was just Molly and Arthur and Harry. Despite their mutual grief, something about the Burrow had always felt like home, or what Harry thought home should be. Perhaps it was the well worn, but serviceable, furnishings that spoke of comfort and familiarity, or perhaps it was the heavenly aromas that came from Molly's always busy kitchen. Even the ghoul rattling about in the attic seemed right and good. The Dursleys' house had never felt like a home to Harry, despite having lived there almost eleven years. There was very little left in the world that Harry could say he truly loved…and almost all of it was here in this house.

Harry sat down and started serving himself. Arthur was already smiling in satisfaction while he devoured his stew and bread. It was thick, hearty fare that stuck to one‘s ribs, the only kind Molly ever made, and as she was deft with her seasonings, Harry savored every bite. A childhood spent deprived of food made Harry an appreciative eater, and Molly Weasley loved few things more than seeing that empty stomachs were made full.

The pace of their meal slowed as they went, and soon a bit of supper conversation trickled in between bites.

“Oddest thing at work today, Harry. Spot of advice from you might shine a little light on the subject. What, exactly, is a Cee-Dee Player?” Arthur had a look of intense curiosity on his face, as he always did when Muggle devices were involved.

“Well, CD’s are a Muggle way to store music and then listen to it whenever they want to hear it…and a CD Player is the device that ’reads’ the music off of a CD and ’plays’ the music out loud for them. What happened?” Harry’s interest was piqued. Vandals were always executing pranks on Muggles, and occasionally Harry picked up tips on anti-Muggle activity from Arthur’s office.

“Ahhh! That explains a lot. Some clever wag charmed one of those ’Players’ to play only one kind of Muggle music non-stop day and night, and locked some poor Muggle fellow in a room with it. Drove the poor blighter right to the edge. We found him battering his head against the door. St. Mungo’s is patching him up, but we’ve had a deuce of a time trying to silence the thing.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought music would do that to anyone. What did he charm it to play, or do you know?”

“Hadn’t the foggiest myself, but Jenkins…you know the new lad at the office…he said it was called ’rap’. Odd thing to call music if you ask me, but it did have that fellow we found rapping his head against a locked door fairly hard. Lucky we found him as early as we did!”

Harry stifled an inward chuckle. Arthur’s stories from work often gave him a smile.

“There’s a pretty strong spell I remember reading about that interrupts Muggle devices…especially ones that depend on electricity. I’ll look it up for you, if you’d like?”

“Ah, thank you, Harry. That’s our secret weapon at work! Always got a good spell up your sleeve when we-”

Harry jumped from the table when the wards signaled someone approaching the edge of the property. Arthur and Molly knew that people welcomed here had been cleared to enter by Floo or Apparition, but the wards Harry had built against strangers were the most powerful anywhere in England save Hogwarts. Harry nodded to them and headed for the door, while Molly and Arthur made sure their wands were handy. There were Death Eaters still roaming the world, albeit fewer now, but it was well known that Harry resided with the Weasleys, and there had been more than one attack over the last two years.

It had been almost a year since the last, but they treated every alert from the wards like it was a full on assault, and Harry always took the lead. He strolled confidently through the early fall snow that drifted across the walkway, and had his wand drawn and ready when he saw the indistinct shape at the edge of the wards.

It was definitely human, but Harry wondered briefly if it was an Inferi, an animated corpse, until he saw that the shambling gait was just made necessary by the bitter chill in the air. The figure at the end of the path looked fairly wretched, in ill-fitting Muggle clothes that appeared entirely wrong for this kind of weather, and they were shuffling from foot to foot, trying to keep warm.

Harry drew closer, and leveled his wand at the pitiful figure in the worn blue jumper and tattered jeans. He still didn’t cross the wards, and kept the last ten paces between them while he called out through the swirling snow.

“Announce yourself and your business or move on! This is private property, and the penalty for trespassing is higher than you want to pay!”

The slight figure in the hooded jumper jerked slightly, as if suddenly awakened, and looked up, directly at Harry. Cloud gray eyes, wide and slightly dazed looking, met Harry’s, and Harry saw blond hair peeking from under the edge of the jumper’s hood.

Draco Malfoy was looking at Harry for the first time in about two years, and opened his mouth to speak, his once familiar drawl now a harsh croak.

“P-please help m-me. S-sanc…sanctuary. P-please.”

Harry stood stock still, more completely gob-smacked than if a tribe of giants had dropped by and politely asked to sit down for tea and biscuits.

“Fuck.” It had been such a good day until now.


TBC