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 12: Shameful Ardor And Chilling Tales


Draco woke early that morning, somewhat logy from the Dreamless Sleep Potion, but otherwise feeling quite well. He dithered over plans for communicating with Harry while he made use of the bathroom and shower, and even though he still needed a small chair to sit on while he cleaned himself, he felt discernibly stronger. Good food and sleep were slowly eating away at the malaise that had clung to him since his arrival, and he hoped that tonight he might actually manage the stairs by himself and join Molly, Arthur and Harry for supper. Most people didn’t react so poorly to the potions he’d been given, but his condition on arrival had been so appalling that he’d been hit harder by them than most.

Arthur was on his way off to work, tea still hurriedly being sipped, while he tipped his hat to Draco on the way down the stairs to the Floo. Draco collapsed back onto the bed with a sigh of relief, just happy to make it back to the bed unsupervised and unassisted.

Today would be the last day of formal healing for him. There were only a few injuries on his back left to close, and when Harry and Molly were finished, all that would be left would be the application of Scaradicate Salve. Draco peeled off the pajama top and looked down at his chest and stomach. The hip bones were still too sharp, and the stomach a little too concave, but at least his ribs didn’t show as much as they had. The reds, browns, purples and grays of scar tissue were everywhere, but he’d trained himself not to look at it for long, since too many memories risked surfacing if he dwelt upon them too much.

He was really healing, and it still seemed impossible that only a week ago he’d been on the edge of death. He could hear Molly humming to herself on the way up the stairs, and he knew that breakfast was on the way. His mouth was already watering at the thought, but not without a tiny twinge of guilt for remaining in bed while he could walk…sort of. The sooner he could work his way up to handling stairs, the better!

Molly arrived, smiling widely, and set the tray down on the bed. Sausages and eggs, bread and jam, tea and juice were all in abundance, and Draco had a little difficulty suppressing tears of happiness while he ate. Molly left him to his meal after gently tousling his hair when he mumbled his thanks through a mouthful of eggs and sausage, and Draco feasted in relative silence, looking forward to today’s healing session more than usual. He still hated the tension that came of close contact, but today he had a purpose and a plan, and today he would see the last of his wounds healed. No more itching flesh that slowly stitched together, no more sitting at wand point with his teeth clenched until his head ached. This had all the makings of a good day.

Draco finished his breakfast, and sat back with a slightly dazed smile. He could hear noise from Harry’s room through the wall, and the urge to show off his ability to get about on his own emerged anew, not the least because he needed to spend more time talking to Harry. Draco pushed aside the tray, slung his legs over the edge of the bed, and started to work his way to the door, one hand on the wall at all times for balance. It only took a minute or so to make it to Harry’s door. He gave a couple of timid raps, suddenly unsure of how Harry would react to unexpected company.

The door opened on its own, doubtlessly a feat of wandless magic by Harry. Draco looked in as the door slowly turned, and found himself staring in shock at the man doing sit-ups on the floor.

Whatever the past years had done to Draco, it had done the opposite to Harry. Harry was wearing nothing but gym shorts, and was doing sit-ups with a ferocity and ease that was intimidating…and fascinating. He was flushed mildly from exertion, and a sheen of sweat was visible on every inch of him. Every muscle was tensed and straining, as he was obviously fairly far along in his routine. His tanned chest looked as chiseled as a statue’s, carved from granite and every bit as solid, and yet his build was that of a runner or a swimmer; lean, flexible and yet powerful when needed. Long, dark hair was bound back by a single black ribbon, and Harry’s face was utterly peaceful, as if in the midst of his efforts, nothing could disturb him. Draco also noticed that the bulge in Harry’s gym shorts was…well…bloody remarkable at the least, and it was fairly obvious that it wasn’t even erect!

“What’s up? Aside from you, that is.”

The question was matter of fact, and almost emotionless, but Draco barely heard it at all. He couldn’t pull his eyes off of the shining expanse of tanned and toned flesh in front of him. He was still maundering over a reply, when nature struck with cruel precision. Draco’s libido had been dead for over a year, and wounded longer than that. Well fed, well rested, and comfortable in his environment, the trauma of his past seemingly far away, Draco’s sluggish sex drive received a sudden metaphorical whack to the back of the neck, snapping it to life quite by surprise. Draco suddenly became conscious of the erection threatening to tent his pajama bottoms, and doubly conscious of the idle fantasy crossing his mind’s eye. He wanted to reach out and touch the wonderful, tawny body in front of him.

Reality slammed back into gear and Draco stumbled backwards, limping toward his room, mumbling apologies he didn’t even hear himself speak.

‘Sick! Wrong! FUCK! What’s wrong with me!? What did they do to me? I can’t…I can’t want…that!’

The worst kind of memories tumbled through his mind. First of his own violation at the hands of others, quite unwillingly, then in numb submission to inevitability, then finally, aching from drug withdrawal, frantically laboring to please his captors. No one should want those things. Something had been done to him, made him sick and foul and a perfect freak. He’d never thought of things like that before, and even if he had, he hadn’t done them! His face flamed at the thought of his own dick betraying him, swelling in full sight of others at the thought of touching another man. Nausea overtook him, ruining the pleasant feeling of fullness he’d been enjoying from breakfast.

A single flash of memory stood out, far older than any other. His father’s outrage at a garden party, when Draco had been caught kissing another boy as part of some insipid childhood game. He’d been caned to within an inch of his life, and the years that followed had been full of lectures about proper manly deportment and his duty to his lineage. Purebloods of the sort that followed the Dark Lord considered faggotry among their own ranks as a sin far graver than the mixing of blood. Choosing not to bring heirs into the world, but to instead seek out dalliances with other men, thereby depleting an already thin gene pool, well…there could be no worse crime.

The caning had lived in his mind ever after, a moment of brilliant and blinding horror, carrying with it the same message, over and over again. Such things were wrong…and Draco had believed it, because he’d been just seven years old, and it had never occurred to him that there was a way in which his father could be wrong. Even in the rational mind of an adult, more than a decade later, an instinctive terror crept into Draco at the thought of actually desiring Harry. What he’d done in the past had been forced, compelled, or necessary. He had never known pleasure from such things, and if he had his way…he never would!

Draco tumbled back into his bed and pulled the covers up, shivering with tension and self-loathing. He fumbled briefly at the nightstand until he reached a Calming Draught and gulped it down. Harry entered the room wearing his bathrobe and wiping sweat from his face with a towel, his face reading a mixture of irritation and concern.

“You alright? Didn’t expect to see you walking around without a reason. Well done.”

The approbation rang hollow in Draco’s ears while he stared intently at the ceiling, refusing to look at the man in the doorway.

“Y-yeah. Fine, just…you know…exercising. I’m fine, really. Thanks.”

The words came out fast and nervous, and Draco cursed himself for being an obvious liar on top of being a potential fairy. He wasn’t sure which of the two was more horrifying at the moment, and the urge to cry from frustration was overwhelming, but he truly didn’t want Harry seeing that!

Harry shrugged and headed down the hall, much to Draco’s relief.

“Alright. I’m off for the shower. Soon as I’m dressed we’ll work on the last of your wounds. Maybe a quarter hour or so. Relax, you look like you overworked yourself. You’re not going to get any better if you keep pushing yourself too hard.”

Draco barely heard the words, mumbling polite agreement without thinking, as his mind was still reeling, and it was a conscious effort just to hold down the food he’d taken in. He wanted to get well, he wanted to be healed, and he wanted to help Molly, but how could he stand being in a room with Harry if something like that happened? He didn’t have any money, or a wand, or even anywhere else to go…so leaving to avoid complete humiliation wasn’t even a realistic option. Things were completely fucked, and he’d almost dared to feel happy until this morning. The Calming Draught was all that was keeping him from breaking into a complete fit, and the world suddenly felt like the horrifying place he’d nearly forgotten it could be.

Molly entered the room and whisked away Draco’s tray with the flick of a wand. Her eyes missed nothing, and Draco knew she saw the empty potion bottle on the counter. Her face resonated with sympathy for Draco.

“I’m sorry, dearie. Rough morning? We’ll see if we can’t turn that around. You’ve nothing to worry for here.”

The words were comforting, but Draco’s tension didn’t subside. Molly couldn’t know about this. He uttered a few vague statements about bad memories, which was perfectly true, and left out the specific details. Somehow, telling the wonderful woman who gave him sanctuary in her home, ‘Oh, by the way, I’m a fucking poof and a bender, and in spite of everything that’s happened, I’m having inappropriate thoughts about the man who is practically your adopted son. Aren’t you glad you let me in the door?’, just didn’t seem like a good way to explain his mood.

Blessedly, Molly took him at his word, and let the subject lie while she went through the potions and a list of recommendations from Poppy Pomfrey.

“Good news, love. No more potions to prevent re-infection means you’ll be feeling fit to walk about in just a couple of days. Terrible side effect, that, but it’s the most effective remedy against infections that we know of. Just a few bits on your upper back and we’ll be finished with the healing proper, and then we can concentrate of getting your scars sorted out. I’ve laid up a fair supply of salve, and I can make a bit more if I must. Some of the older ones may take repeat treatment, and Poppy warns that powerful Dark curse scars may be especially slow to heal, but I’m sure we can manage. You’ve done remarkably well already. I’m quite proud of you, you know. None of my boys were such perfect patients. It was a fight to get as much as a teaspoon of potion down their throat, and goodness, keeping them abed for more than an hour took almost every spell I knew, including the Full Body Bind!”

Draco stiffly smiled at her kind words. “I…I can handle this. I’m okay. Today I want to make it to supper…at the table. I’m just…anxious.” Draco shifted to a whisper, since he could hear that the shower had stopped. Harry would be here soon.

“I have some ideas on getting Harry to talk about things. I’ll try them while we do the healing. I need the distraction anyway, it’ll keep my mind off things.”

Molly nodded soberly, and loudly changed the topic, hoping to ensure Harry’s continued ignorance about their little conspiracy. They nattered a bit about other things, deliberately killing time until Harry arrived, still damp from his shower, but thankfully (for the sake of Draco’s nerves) fully clothed.

Draco knew what was coming, and given the location of his wounds, and the events of this morning, he was uncomfortable about being half naked in front of Harry. Thank the gods it was his back they were working on! Heaven forbid it had been his hips and thighs! He’d been too potion-addled and exhausted to respond to any unnatural urges then, but now, apparently, it was a different game. Half just to distract himself from that train of thought, and half to delay the inevitable, Draco opened his conversation with something he‘d mulled over for the last couple of days.

“Harry…Molly, there’s something I need to say before we start. I couldn’t think very clearly for awhile, but I know what I want to say now. May I?”

Harry nodded assent, his brow only lightly furrowed with interest. Molly held her breath, hoping that at least Draco’s opening gambits wouldn’t fall apart. The boy was her last hope of awakening Harry’s conscience about his actions. Harry seemed nonplussed.

“Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Draco took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and started.

“I didn’t want to say this until I felt well enough to say it right. I’ve said thank you for the things you’ve both done…letting me stay here, healing me, feeding me so well…but there’s something I haven’t said yet, and it’s overdue.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all the things I did in school. I didn’t even understand how they could be wrong back then. I know a lot of things I didn’t know then, and I know that I hurt a lot of people, not always on purpose, and mostly not very badly, but I didn’t care about what I was doing or who it hurt, I only cared about me. I’m sorry about Ron and Katie. I’m sorry about Albus. I’m sorry about Greyback and Bill. God, I’m even sorry about Hagrid and Buckbeak. I’m sorry about almost everything I ever said or did from the day I entered Hogwarts until the day I left.

I can’t make any of it go away. It’s done and there’s nothing I can do to change it. I just wanted you to know that things are different now…I‘m different, and I’ll never stop thinking about things before I act. I promise I’ll never let myself behave like that again. It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not, it only matters that I mean it and I know it, but it would be good to think that you knew how much I meant this. You’re the only people in the entire wizarding world that have ever done anything for me without a reason or an agenda. I swear I won’t forget it. Thank you.”

Draco opened his eyes. Molly’s lips were pursed while she dabbed at her eyes. Harry looked inscrutable, as if gears were turning in head. Harry finally spoke.

“Well, Draco…you’d better stop talking like that or people will start getting the idea that you’re a decent bloke. For what it’s worth, I believe you…about you being different now. You seem it, and I think you understand that no one will ever forget what you’ve done, but we might just get comfortable with what you’re doing now.”

Molly took up where Harry left off, the tremor in her voice clearly showing the depth of her emotions even though she tried to maintain a sober front.

“You’re so very welcome, Draco. The past is the past, but you’ve got brighter days ahead of you, I’m sure of it. Now just turn about and let’s have a look at your back, love. We’ll see if we can’t get you fixed up right quick, shall we?”

Draco felt apprehension build in his chest even as he turned onto his stomach, pushing the blankets down to his waist. The presence of two people behind him while he was essentially helpless was something that made his stomach churn with panic. Even the Calming Draught couldn’t fully take the edge off of this reaction. But that was where Draco’s plan kicked in. The words were hard to get out, as tense as he was, and they were perfectly truthful, but they served a second purpose. A noble purpose. Molly was clucking about his tensed muscles and imploring him to relax, and that set up his request for a distraction.

“I need to think about something else. I’m sorry, I just can’t…can’t handle this easily. Harry? I know everybody else probably already heard it, but would you tell me about when you destroyed the Dark Lord? I wanted to hear it from you.”

He could almost feel the warring emotions in Harry smoldering behind him. The presence of power and faint anger behind him made him quail inside with fear. He reminded himself that Molly was here and nothing could happen. Nothing…right?

“Why that old tale? The Prophet had most of it right, surprisingly. There are only a few parts that got left out, and some of that can’t be spoken of even now. There are parts that I can‘t even tell, and the number of people who knew the whole truth could have been counted with one hand, and a couple of them are dead. The parts that are left aren’t that different from what you’ve probably heard, so I don’t really see the point in telling it again.”

Draco turned his head on the pillow and looked Harry in the eyes.

“You saved all of us that day. There’s no one in this house, including me, who would be alive today if you hadn’t done what you’d done. It wouldn’t just distract me from…you know…it would just be nice to know more about what the whole world owes you for. Please?”

Kindness could achieve things that a swaggering posture and a bullying demeanor never could, as Draco was quickly learning, and this was proven true when Harry grudgingly nodded. Molly set to work in silence, while Draco tried to concentrate on the sound of Harry’s voice, letting himself forget the terrible feeling of exposure and vulnerability that dogged him during these healing sessions.

“It was Ron and me in the end. We’d gone through the cellars while the rest of the Order stormed the main entrance. We made it deeper into Riddle Manor than any of the others, partly because of my Invisibility Cloak, and partly because of a few of Fred and George’s magical inventions. There was a lot of fighting, but we had a special purpose. Let’s just say that Voldemort had certain artifacts enchanted to provide him extra protection. We had to destroy those before he could even potentially be killed.

There was only one left when we attacked Riddle Manor, and everything would have been a bloody waste if we hadn’t succeeded. Nagini, the snake, was one of them. He’d made her a living artifact, and Ron and I found her in the cellars. He pinned her down so she couldn’t strike, and I hacked her to bits. That wasn’t even close to the end of it. We’d already broken the others, and that made it time to find Voldemort and finish the job.

There was fighting everywhere. The grounds, the halls…everwhere. We may have been coming up from below, but it was like an anthill in there, and we’d been the ones to disturb it. Every time we turned a corner, we ran into more Death Eaters. Ron fought like a tiger. One came through a doorway and almost surprised us, but Ron didn’t even blink before grabbing him by the robes and bashing him into a wall until he dropped. It was the hall before Voldemort’s lair that was the worst. I don’t know if it was just the number of guards he really kept or if he was trying to soften us up before he came out in person, but it was wands, knives, fists and boots for longer than I can recall.

I remember being surrounded by bodies, and Ron had been slashed up pretty bad, but he was still upright and ready to fight. Voldemort stepped out of his room like it was a Sunday stroll. He laughed at us, and I remember it making me furious. Ron fired off a spell and it got blocked, and he got hit with a Stunner and went down. I had my Protego up and it missed me entirely. There wasn’t much to it, but I marched the hall toward him, bouncing spells off each other as we closed. He was still laughing like a maniac when I got to the last couple feet from him, and then I buried my knife in his chest, pushed up and twisted.

The look on his face was almost comical, like he couldn’t believe that I’d killed him with a weapon instead of a spell. When his head lolled back and he slid off the blade, it was like an explosion…pure force, and it threw me back down the hall. Knocked me out cold. I came to being carried out across Ron’s shoulder. He’d found me on a pile of Death Eaters, and he just threw me over his shoulder and fought his way out until he could link up with the rest of our team.

The weird part was this. Dumbledore always used to say that the prophecy’s line about ‘a power the Dark Lord knew not’ meant love. He thought I’d win because I could love and Tom Riddle couldn’t. It’s funny, isn’t it? The power the Dark Lord knew not was nine inches of high-tempered carbon steel shoved through his sternum and into his black and miserable heart. All the mastery of magic, all that hatred of Muggles, and in the end, a standard issue Muggle combat knife killed him. That’s the end of it. It wasn’t all magic and speeches and happy endings, but that was how it happened.”

Draco mulled over the tale he’d just been told. It chilled him to the bone, and he’d completely forgotten about the other matters that would have stressed him. Molly finished up the last old and ugly wound on his back, and Draco thanked Harry for the tale. Mentally, he was exhausted, and he begged time for sleep now that they were finished. A hundred new questions were whirling in his mind, but uneasy sleep crept up too fast to work on framing them. Draco slid into a doze within minutes, and was only barely conscious of the sounds of Harry and Molly leaving him to rest.

TBC!!!