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

Chapter 10: How The Other Half Live


Harry lounged in his room, trying make sense of an advanced Occlumency text. It outlined several techniques that few mastered, both for Legilimency and Occlumency. Most students of these arts mastered what was necessary to interrogate an enemy, or to resist interrogation. Harry, as in all things he did now, was pushing himself to master the art more completely than others had, buying himself another edge against his enemies. There was only one obstacle to his accomplishing that goal…and it took the shape of a painful erection that wouldn’t go away despite his best efforts to ignore it completely.

It had been two days since his unfortunate incident with Draco in the hallway, and his later encounter with him his room. Two days of stiffly assisting Molly in the casting of spells, healing the open, formerly infected, injuries on Draco’s body, some of which had been in quite personal areas. Adjusting the sheets to expose only the area to be spelled had minimized the impact, but buttocks were still buttocks, and inner thighs were still inner thighs!

Two days of watching Draco force himself to stand and walk, a pale and determined little ghost in oversized pajamas, limping to the bathroom first with Harry’s help, and yesterday, completely alone. Two days of Draco forcing terse conversations out of him with polite small talk, starting with an apology for yelling at him. The entire experience was disorienting.

If Draco would just hurl insults at him, he’d know what to feel, and how to react. This alien Draco was infuriating. There was almost no guile of any kind in his behavior. He was polite, and honest to a fault, sometimes making statements so blunt that Harry wanted to flee rather than be forced to acknowledge that he’d heard them. Sitting up at night to respond to Draco’s nightmares had given Harry a window to Draco’s soul, and what he’d seen made him want to run from the room screaming.

At the edge of Harry’s conscious mind, there was a vague acknowledgment that whatever had happened to Draco had completely shattered every trace of the vain, spiteful, bullying playboy that Harry had known in school. The person in the room next to him bore almost no resemblance to Draco Malfoy, and Harry had coached himself to follow Draco’s request and stopped using his surname altogether.

The skinny, blond boy one door over in the hall possessed a weird intensity that sustained him, and pushed himself to get well with a fervor that he’d never shown in school. Harry had expected Draco to lay about, waited on hand and foot, carping about his pain and sorrow. Instead, Draco only grudgingly asked for help at all, and that looked like it pained him more than the actual wounds. He hated being touched, but he would subject himself to examination and spells daily, gritting his teeth in silence while Molly and Harry worked at healing him.

This Draco showed gratitude openly for even the smallest things, and apologized whenever he thought he might have given offense. Harry had idly toyed with the notion of looking for a magical explanation for such a personality shift. It just seemed impossible that the Draco he had once known could be strong in the face of his own fears, soft spoken and polite, and stoic in the face of pain and discomfort. He’d discarded the notion after realizing that, wandless, Draco had no Glamour upon him, no potion to Polyjuice himself, and no means by which to hide a magical presence from Harry.

He still couldn’t say he trusted Draco. His every nerve screamed against such a thing. Draco had been the ultimate Slytherin’s Slytherin in school, and no one could change that much…could they? Even so, it had to be admitted frankly that this new Draco was passing friendly and fair spoken, with traits that were genuinely admirable. It complicated things a lot more than Harry expected…and that brought him back to the swollen flesh straining against his trousers.

He’d stopped masturbating after the ‘shower incident’, in the vague hope that nothing like that would happen to him again. It hadn’t worked, and in fact, the matter had gotten worse as the last two days passed. Now he suffered unpredictable, random erections during the day and night, and they seemed likely to occur whenever he was stuck in the room with Draco, be it for healing, or for watching Draco sleep, in the event of nightmares that needed treatment. Now he was stuck with the prospect of having his wank interrupted by thoughts of Draco, or going on like this, stone hard and aching at random intervals.

Harry had never considered the prospect of being gay. Never seriously, anyway. There had been others at Hogwarts who clearly were, and they’d been the subject of locker room speculation and a little friendly ridicule. He didn’t feel animosity toward the idea, but he certainly wasn’t comfortable with it. He’d only ever gotten to snogging with Ginny…unless you included a few flustered pecks from Cho, before she stormed off, weeping over Cedric. He’d rather liked it, but Ginny felt as much a sister to him as a girlfriend.

The events of his sixth year, and the death of Albus, had put a halt to his romantic impulses. The deaths of Ginny and Hermione had further isolated him, convincing Harry absolutely that people close to him were targets. He’d retreated to the Weasley’s, who were already targets, and secured their home against attack as effectively as he could, hoping to keep the few people he cared for alive, since the remaining Death Eaters didn’t care about Voldemort’s death, and seemed hell-bent on carrying out their master’s wishes even after stunning and absolute defeat. Since that time, sex and sexuality had been the last things on Harry’s mind, pushed aside in favor of combat tactics, spell craft, exercise...and looking after Molly and Arthur.

There wasn’t any question about certain matters. Clearly, something about this 'new' Draco seemed to capture Harry’s interest. He watched things closely, little gestures, and they seemed to speak to him as never before. Where once Draco would have snatched things from people with hands that grasped acquisitively, now he reached out gently, tremulous, apparently honored even to be given a glass of water. The smirks and sneers that had crossed his face had vanished, and only nervous smiles and apprehensive curiosity showed now. These little things, tiny symbols of greater changes, lingered in his mind long after, and clamored for conscious attention in a way he just couldn’t explain.

He didn’t dare mention such feelings to Molly. Not that he felt that she’d reject him, he was secure in the knowledge that she cared about him, but she would almost certainly be flustered and overly worried about Harry’s well being, and Harry really didn’t want Molly worrying over him. The woman he thought of as a surrogate mother had more than enough to worry about already.

He wasn’t at all worried about what she might think of his sudden and inexplicable interest in another young man. Charlie had emerged years ago as gay, and Molly hadn’t anything to say on the subject except a stern exhortation that Charlie find himself a proper boyfriend and not squander his life fooling around with who knows who. Charlie had settled down with a rather dashing, dark-haired fellow dragon tamer, who was a native of Prague, but spoke English fluently, and flattered Molly effortlessly. No…Molly wouldn’t care about that, but she certainly wouldn’t approve of an unhealthy fascination with a severely damaged Draco, and that was that!

‘Charlie! I should talk to Charlie and Dula! They wouldn’t give me any grief over this, and if I ask for privacy, they’ll keep mum about it too.’

Harry rose and headed down the hall for the stairs. Draco was at rest again, exhausted after forcing himself to walk to the shower, though he’d needed a chair to sit in while he cleaned himself. Thank the heavens that Molly had accepted spells of Cleansing as a substitute for further baths, or Harry would have suffered every bit as much indignity as Draco.

He made it to the fireplace without complications and clutched a pinch of Floo powder. A clear command and a fiery puff of green, and his body may have been in the Burrow, but his head was poking out of Charlie and Dula’s fireplace.

“Charlie? Dula? Anyone home?”

“Hang on! Coming,” came Charlie’s voice from the kitchen.

Harry looked around the room. It looked as rugged and spartan as one might expect of a dragon tamer’s home, but there were hints of comfort about the room; exotic plants, wall hangings and small, functional furnishings. Charlie was decidedly not the frilly kind of poof that people poked fun at so often. It was hard to imagine anyone poking fun at Charlie, since even though Harry had grown taller than his best friend’s brother, Charlie was still heavier and more powerfully built, and could likely snap most grown men in half with modest effort.

Charlie stepped into the room and smiled widely when he saw Harry. He was wearing tight leather breeches and high boots of dragon hide. A black sash was his belt, and his tunic was rough, white linen, open at the throat and chest, displaying a torso that made Harry’s look more like Draco’s.

“How’s our Harry then, eh? Keeping Pop out of trouble?” Charlie’s relaxed and cheerful tone was pure relief after the stress of living in a house that reeked of pain and worry since Draco’s arrival.

“I’m alright…just having a hard time the last few days. Wanted to know if I could step in and chat a bit. Just…things on my mind.”

“Sure. Come on through. Dula will be home in a half hour or so…want to stay for supper? It’s not Mum’s cooking, but nothing is, is it? Still, my goulash hasn‘t caused any fatalities…yet.”

Harry stepped through the Floo and emerged into the living room, dusting himself off as thoroughly as he could.

“Great! I needed a break from things at home. It’s been…tense lately.”

“Follow me, you can take a seat and tell me all about it while I finish dinner. Nothing too awful I hope…Mum and Da okay?”

Harry followed Charlie into the kitchen and made use of stool beside the long galley-style counter. Charlie grabbed a few jars of spice and started stirring them into the pot of goulash.

“Yeah…they’re fine. Great really. Your dad’s been as happy as can be ever since Shacklebolt put him charge of the Misuse Of Muggle Artifacts Office. The pay raise really leveled things out at home, too. Your mum hasn’t fretted over money since. She’s really doing well…still keeping busy, even when I can’t figure what needs doing so urgently. She’s a bundle of energy.”

Charlie smiled and started dicing tomatoes into small chunks. “That’s my mum. Never a wasted minute. So what’s the problem then? Surely the Saviour of the Wizarding World doesn’t need my advice on wrestling dragons?”

Harry choked a moment, thinking of metaphorically wrestling with Draco the way Charlie wrestled dragons.

“Not quite, but close. Draco Malfoy is staying at the Burrow.”

“OUCH! Bugger all!” Charlie had slashed open his finger with the heavy knife. A muttered spell and it closed quickly enough. “Let’s hear that again. I think my brain just seized up!”

“I’m dead serious…sorry about catching you off guard while you were holding a sharp object, but it had the same effect on me when it happened. Draco showed up a few days ago, poor as any beggar, wandless, wearing Muggle clothes, wounded nine ways from Merlin, and begged sanctuary. Your mum granted it, and he’s been there all week while we feed him up and heal his injuries. Looks like he had a run in with Death Eaters, and they worked him over pretty badly.”

Charlie stirred the tomatoes into the pot, the placed the entire thing in the oven, and the wave of heat emanating outward was refreshing in the slight chill that saturated the house. Apparently the Burrow, for all its tiny familiar faults, was less drafty than Charlie and Dula’s house, but the two dragon tamers were hardy enough to feel comfortable here.

“Color me bloody stunned! Malfoy? What was mum thinking? Is he behaving himself?”

“Yeah…better than I would have thought…that’s not the problem at all.”

“Well, spit it out, mate. If living with Draco Malfoy isn’t the problem, I don’t know what else could be.”

Harry took a deep breath. It felt like an anvil was resting on his lungs. His vision swam a little from the tension, and he found himself clutching the counter for support.

“Charlie…I…since he showed up…I…shite! I…can’t stop…he’s just…”

Each word came out curt and choked, laden with audible tension. Harry was on the edge of hyperventilating, and Charlie furrowed his brow with worry.

“Relax, mate. It can’t be that bad. Whatever it is, just tell us and we’ll see what we can do.”

“Charlie…I…IthinkI’mgoingqueer.”

Harry let his breath out with a puff, sucking oxygen into his lungs as quickly as possible, trying to get a grip on the vertigo that was overtaking him. He’d never imagined saying such a thing aloud in a million years.

“Easy there, Harry. You’ve worked yourself into a hell of a state over it, but it isn’t such a big thing at all. Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t, but don’t let it tear you up like that. You're among friends, alright?”

“Yeah…yeah…I’m fine. I just…I never thought I’d say that.” Harry looked at Charlie with a silent plea for help, unsure of what else to say.

“So how’d all this come about? What makes you think you’re on the edge of playing for our team, eh? Not that you wouldn’t be welcome…you’re a fit bloke in your own right, and if you hadn’t been so much younger, and arrow-straight at the surface, I’d have asked you out myself. Before I met Dula, of course. You lean, dark-haired lads are just my style.”

Harry stared at the counter miserably. “It’s Draco. I keep, you know, thinking about him. Like I think he’s beautiful, but he isn’t. He’s a mess, scarred almost from head to toe. It’s the way he acts now. Helpless, scared, polite…decent. It’s like he’s someone else in Draco’s body, and I can’t get him out of my head. I mean, fuck all, a straight bloke doesn’t think of naked guys when he has one off, does he? Draco shows up, and the sight of him makes me sick, but when I try to have a swift one at the wrist, there he is in my head, right? I should owe him a trip to the morgue, but now I…I wanna take care of him, I want to…look after him. What the fuck does it all mean?”

Charlie let out a low whistle of surprise, then clucked his tongue like Molly would have.

“Well, it’s a bit early to declare yourself a poof, but you could be a bit of both you know. Bisexual. Happens more than people like to admit. Funny thing, when two people don’t know they want each other and don’t feel comfortable with the notion of it, they act a bit like you two did in school. Perfect rivals, constant pissing matches to figure out who’s the better. Hadn’t thought about it before, since I wasn’t there to see it all, but it makes sense, if you ask me. I wouldn’t worry yourself over it, though.”

Harry looked up, surprised by Charlie’s casual attitude.

“Why not? I mean, the situation’s fucked! I have to live with him, I’ve got some pathetic crush on him, I can’t say a thing about it, and he’s too messed up from being shredded by Death Eaters to even THINK about dating someone, and that’s assuming he doesn’t call me a fucking queer, bent, bastard, and tell me to piss off? What’s NOT to worry about?”

Charlie leveled a serious gaze on Harry, and spoke as soberly and quietly as Harry had ever heard him speak.

“Because it’s simpler than you think, Harry. Either you want something enough to try, even when you might fail, or you don’t. You ought to know that better than anyone. You didn’t kill a Dark Lord because you ‘kind of felt like it’. The only thing you need to work on is making up your mind about what you want, and the rest takes care of itself.”

Harry sat in awe, dumbfounded by the essential truth behind Charlie’s words. He didn’t have any answers, but he suddenly knew what he needed to figure out…more clearly than ever. He nodded to himself, mulling it all over while Charlie waited for an answer.

“You’re right. You’re bloody right. I don’t know what I really want, but when I do, I’ll know what to do. Thanks. Thanks, mate. Don’t know how you Weasley’s make everything so easy, but I think you get it from your mum.”

Harry stood up and took a deep breath. The anvil was gone, and he felt better than he had since Draco first arrived. He’d dealt with worse, and he’d deal with this. Charlie stepped around the counter, and held his arms out for a hug.

“You look like you need one, so give us a hug before I kick your teeth in, ya prat.”

Harry let himself slide into his friends arms, stiff and on edge for the first time, suddenly keenly aware of the fact that it was a man he was so close to…and it felt unutterably good to relax in Charlie’s arms. Being patted on the back was something new as well, and oddly comforting at that. It felt safe, comfortable and familiar, and Harry found it as pleasant as it was foreign.

“How charming. I leave my lover alone for less than a day, and he’s already in the arms of another man. Hello, Harry.” Dula’s lightly accented English surprised them both.

They broke apart, and both looked at Dula’s merrily sparkling brown eyes. Charlie’s lover was perhaps an inch taller than Harry, but leaner than Charlie, with straight black hair in a single long braid that almost reached his waist. Dula’s mocking smirk and aristocratic bearing were eerily reminiscent of Draco, and Harry suddenly felt flustered to within an inch of his life.

“It’s not…we weren’t…I…oh, hell!”

“Oy! Dula…guess what? Our Harry might just be one of us!” Charlie grinned at Harry’s stammering.

Dula raised a dark eyebrow in surprise. “Really? I certainly wouldn’t have guessed that! Bravo, Harry. I applaud your courage. Whatever you decide, it’s well with us. You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you?”

Harry let himself be made welcome, and their supper was plain, but hearty, and the conversation was a pleasant change from the routine of home. He watched the way Dula and Charlie interacted with keener interest than before. Their affection was muted and mature, but ever-present in many ways. The little shared glances, the peaceful way they were aware of each other and blended almost seamlessly as a couple, despite their many differences.

Dula was from Europe’s wizarding nobility, but chose the life of a dragon tamer over a life of relative ease and comfort. He was subtle in his wit, charming in any social occasion, and refined in every gesture. Charlie was a boisterous Weasley, raised without much in the way of wealth, save for the love of a good family, and open with his affection and words in a way that made some ’society’ types blanch. Somehow, the two of them just ‘felt’ right together.

It wouldn’t be such a terrible thing, to have something like their life, Harry thought. It was later than he expected when he finally took the Floo home, well and rightly cheered by the time he’d spent with Charlie and Dula.

Harry stepped out of the fireplace and dusted himself off, coughing a bit, and headed upstairs for bed. Draco seemed to be sleeping peacefully, and Harry didn’t begrudge himself a glance at Draco’s face. There were no scars there, and nothing marred the clean lines of Draco’s jaw and cheekbones. A little color had returned to Draco’s skin, and he’d started eating three full, solid meals a day and sleeping less during the day. All in all, Draco looked like he was getting well quickly, and Molly and Harry were making it happen.

’Maybe he’ll get well enough, in other ways, that I could think about…other things…sometime. Or maybe not. Either way, I guess it’ll work itself out. Peaceful dreams, Draco.’

Harry stepped into his own room, peeling off his shirt for bed. A sealed letter waited on his bed, bearing the seal of the twins, Fred and George. Harry cracked the seal while his heart pounded nervously.

‘Harry,

Our mutual sources have some information of interest. We will make sure we’re available at the office tomorrow to discuss the details.

Let justice be done,

Your Friends,

Fred and George’

They’d located another Death Eater, or perhaps more than one. Harry felt his hand tremble, itching for the hilt of his knife. If the information panned out, tomorrow night, he would kill again.


TBC!!!