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 14: Never Let You Fall


Molly enjoyed a quiet sit down after lunch. Harry had come home and passed along Fred and George’s love to their mum, Draco had eaten lunch quietly, pre-occupied with thoughts he didn’t seem ready to share, and with a spot of tea and some knitting, the busy part of her day came to a halt…at least until near supper, which was hours off yet.

It had been just the oddest thing, finding herself being spoken to by Harry in the garden. She remembered going out there to cool off, but she hadn’t left a door open in winter in her entire life. Silliness. Awful to think that one might be getting old, but there was only one cure for that, and it was permanent, and not one that Molly was interested in for a good long time. She let the knitting needles occupy her time, since there was just enough concentration involved to keep her busy, but not unable to think idly of other things.

Draco seemed unusually skittish. Perhaps his nightmares were worsening. It was a matter of some concern, since Dreamless Sleep could only be administered for a short time before side effects cropped up, and if any arose, she’d have to wean him off the potion almost immediately. She couldn’t bear the thought of denying the poor little thing the one substance that ensured the healthy rest he needed. If he didn’t recover emotionally, and quick, it would hurt him all the more to suddenly do without peaceful rest.

Harry’s progress, at least on the subject of Draco, had pleased her enormously. He’d been so bitter at first, but she’d had confidence that Harry would see through his past grievances and recognize that someone needed his help, unconditionally, irregardless of past woes. It was a great comfort to know that she hadn’t misjudged Harry, she’d always had faith that, in spite of his actions, the sweet boy who had come to stay with them was still there.

Molly’s roll of green yarn finally ran out, and she rummaged through her knitting supplies for another. It was gone…all gone. She’d used it all up and hadn’t picked up more when she’d had the chance. Sheer stupidity! Horrible, wretched, pathetic asinine…

Molly broke into tears before she could stop herself, and her complexion wasn’t one that mixed well with them, and a wave of hopeless sorrow washed over her, pulling her into a round of tiny sobs. Halfway through sneezing into one of her many handkerchiefs, she realized what she was doing and stopped in puzzlement.

’Good heavens, woman! Get a grip on yourself. It’s only yarn. You can Floo into town, or Transfigure a bundle of old rags. Nothing to get so worked up about, dearie. I swear, the things I seem to do these days.’

Molly went back to the kitchen and Transfigured some yarn out of rags she’d kept for cleaning, with a solemn promise to fetch some more from town as soon as she felt properly up to it.

------------------------------------------------


Harry brooded in his room. There were hours to go yet, but the anticipation was already eating at him. It had been more than a month since the last time he’d done a raid, and he was more than ready for it. Every second that ticked by was a cruel irritant, and there was nothing for it but to wait. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much about the illusion that he was doing nothing out of the ordinary. Everyone knew what he was doing. It was just an unwritten rule that, if he must commit these acts, he should cover his trail neatly, leaving his friends nothing to worry over. It was ridiculous. A waste of time that could allow killers to get away. Still, the look of sadness on Molly’s face when she had delicately broached the subject had almost been more than he could stand.

He threw himself onto the bed and grabbed a book. Advanced Occlumency and Legilimency were hard subjects, and even harder with no one to practice on. It was mostly theory work, and difficult theories to employ, at that! He’d long since built shields that didn’t crack under pressure, and he had power enough to smash through all but the finest defenses, but there were applications far beyond the questioning of suspects. There were mind healing techniques, calming exercises, lessons on memory storage and recovery. Pages and pages, and this was only one of the texts he’d inherited from the Black and Dumbledore estates. When he wasn’t helping Molly and Arthur, or ‘working’, enhancing his magical skills was his private passion.

As they entered into November, Harry remembered that his estate paperwork for Gringott’s would be due in a couple of weeks. The complexities of estate management had escaped him entirely, but he knew the rudiments, and paid a high price to get the goblins to correct his errors. He really didn’t want anyone but the goblins to see his private holdings, so a solicitor or accountant wasn’t an option he liked. He muddled through each quarter with a hatred that bordered on psychosis, but it was one of those things that just had to be done.

His book held no interest to him at the moment, and he finally laid it down and sighed. He’d tried hard not to think of Draco since his conversation with Charlie and Dula, but it was impossible to keep the subject from his mind. Especially when his sensitive ears could hear the nervous muttering and shifting sheets in the next room. He always heard the sounds of restless sleep these days, and it gallingly reminded him of the boy in the other room.

When he thought clearly of Draco, now, here in the house, it was hard to pin down what affected him so strangely. He could remember when Draco Malfoy had been a source of complete outrage. His smirks and sneers, his smugness and cruelty, and his capacity to hurt others with lies and misdirection, mostly for his own amusement, had been legendary. All these things were clear memories, but they didn’t seem to relate to the boy in the room next to him anymore. Draco’s physical appearance was ghastly, and Harry didn’t feel any attraction to the starvation level physique, or the heavy scarring that marred every second inch of skin on Draco’s body. If he’d liked that kind of thing he’d have shagged the ghoul in the attic by now!

Draco’s mannerisms. That was it. That was the real difference. He couldn’t say with any certainty whether he liked boys as much as girls, but he felt fairly sure that he liked the changes in Draco. Not the night terrors, or the weakness, but the little, hard to spot things. The way his eyes seemed wider, and not slitted with suspicion. The way he tried so hard to help himself and not burden others more than he had to. The guileless, blunt way he spoke what he really thought, even when it made him uncomfortable to do so. The bravery he’d shown during healing sessions, obviously terrified even while doped with potions, but unwilling to let that slow down what had to be done. There was character there, and a desire to do what was right at any cost. Draco was a better person, and it showed in so many small ways.

Harry was now more than vaguely aware that, even after all that had passed between them, he rather liked that person. His fantasies hadn’t really changed; they were still about intimacy, touching, closeness and even snogging…but now they prominently featured Draco instead of anonymous bodies and half remembered faces from pretty strangers. He wanted to make Draco feel safe, and take the nightmares away for good. He wanted that to be possible for everyone in the world, which was why he kept hunting, preying on the predators, but he wanted to give Draco a happier life in a more direct way than he’d ever felt before.

Frankly, it was terrifying. Feeling these…things…now, was a complete bloody nuisance, and a right pain in the arse! Draco couldn’t possibly cope with a situation like this, since even if he’d been inclined to like blokes instead of birds, the last people he’d been around that were keen on the same sex…well…they’d literally buggered him bloody, the fucking bastards. It was written in stone; Harry could only hope to see Draco safe and healthy, then see if he could pull some strings and send Draco on his way to somewhere else. With a little help from his friends and family, Harry might be able to set Draco up for a nice, quiet life somewhere, and with his new attitude, Draco could probably make friends and hold a job once he’d proven himself to others. It didn’t matter what Harry wanted, which was a situation he was used to, he’d just have to keep mum and deal with things as they came.

The nagging thoughts he’d refused to embrace were out in the open, and he’d relaxed a bit, so Harry took up his book and read again, letting time and worry drift away on a sea of technical terms about theoretical Legilimency.

----------------------------------------------------


Draco woke from his after lunch nap, and he could already hear Molly in the kitchen downstairs, making supper. If his nose wasn’t lying to him, a roast was in the making, and he felt his stomach rumble with hunger, despite having been well fed for days.

’Who’d have thought I could be such a shameless pig when it comes to food? Oh well, when I make it down the stairs, Molly is going to just bust with pride. Where were those clothes again?’

Draco rolled cautiously out of the bed and limped to the trunk at the foot of it. It was unlocked, and he’d seen Molly stow away stacks of clothes for when he was ready. There were thick socks that were clean if a bit worn, and they were a bit large on his feet, but not as big as the trousers, which puddled around his feet and hung ridiculously low on his hips. They’d have fallen off, but a belt had been thoughtfully provided, and extra holes had been punched into it out of consideration for his pathetically slender waist. There were shirts in abundance, and sweaters as well, but most of them were variations of Gryffindor colors. There were many ways in which Draco had changed, but his abhorrence of red, which looked horrible on him, and his loathing for gaudy gold, had not budged. He settled for a rather muted brown sweater that felt wonderfully warm.

A slow but steady trip to the bathroom, and he fixed his hair for the first time in months. It required him to look in the mirror for more than a few seconds, and he was glad he was at least dressed…since he’d grown positively sick of looking at his ruined body. If he never saw another scar again, it would still be too soon. Draco sighed at the picture in the mirror. He looked better, but he could remember when he’d looked amazing, and he’d been proud of it then. Now he was, well, just shabby. A skinny, shabby, scarred up little freak, garbed in leftover clothes that looked half again his size. Damn…why did that seem oddly familiar?

‘God! This is pathetic. I’m bitching about minutia when I’m warm for the first time in weeks and I’m headed for supper in a few minutes. Compared to the week before this one, I’m the luckiest bastard who ever lived. Get moving, Draco. It’s going to be a piece of work getting down those bloody stairs. Better start now if there’s going to be food left when you get there!’

Draco limped his way to the stairwell, and gripped the railing carefully. It was slow going, but his balance had been coming back steadily over the last couple of days. He just got winded easily, and straining muscles that hadn’t worked heavily in a week was a bit trickier than he imagined. Who’d have thought stairs could be intimidating?

One at a time, Draco worked his way down, faintly flushed with a pleasant mixture of pride and exertion. It was such a small thing, but he’d learned to make the best of what he could in any given situation, and from where he’d started the week, making the journey downstairs without a spell of Levitation was a major bloody success!

Draco’s heart lurched into his throat when his foot slipped, and as his body pitched to compensate, he lost his rather weak grip on the railing. He didn’t even have time to do more than gasp before a hard looking wooden step was flying toward his face at terrifying speed, and his eyes slammed shut as he prepared for blinding pain.

It never came. Draco opened his eyes, and stared at the step that was two inches from his face. He was floating, weightless and pain free, just above the stair. His entire body shook with the excess of adrenaline-based excitement. All he’d been able to imagine a second ago was waking up as broken as he’d been when he arrived, and how depressing it was that he’d failed to make it down a bloody stair. Then his body shifted in the air, so that he was floating comfortably on his back, and he got a clear view of his rescuer.

Harry was at the top of the stairs, one hand outstretched in an act of silent concentration. Wandless, voiceless magic at its finest. Pure will was holding Draco aloft, and it filled him with a giddy sense of freedom and happiness. Harry walked down the steps slowly, with Draco floating in front of him, until they reached the living room. Draco found himself floating over a chair, and ultimately deposited gently into it, landing so smoothly that it was like he’d sat down of his own will. Harry walked the last few feet and took the chair beside Draco, who was still getting his equilibrium back after experiencing panic, followed by the euphoric sense of weightlessness, and a dash of awe at Harry’s level of power as well.

“Thanks…I guess I…I tried to make the stairs a little too soon. I didn’t think I’d get that dizzy. That was amazing…the magic I mean.”

Harry smiled mildly. “You know I wouldn’t let you fall, right? I wouldn’t let you get hurt…and you’re welcome.”

Draco went crimson, almost to the roots of his hair. There was something utterly matter of fact about Harry’s tone. It whispered volumes at him, and they were volumes he really didn’t want to hear. The knowledge that Harry was dangerous seemed far away, when he was kind and so fucking sincere like this. If he’d known that he’d saved a filthy, perverted freak, who lusted after touching him, Harry would probably hex him back to the top of the stairwell and kick him back down it for good measure. The act of kindness that came so easy for Harry made Draco’s stomach knot and twist with uncomfortable desires

‘What do I say? What the fuck do I say? Shit! Shit! Shit! Say something, Draco!’

Just then, Arthur Weasley exploded out of the Floo, and ended the discussion completely, glancing up and smiling after dusting his clothes off and peeling off his work robe.

“Draco! Good to see you up and about. Best thing for you. Harry, got a question for you if you’ve the time? Very good, very good. Can you tell me, in specific terms, what a ‘hat rack’ should or should not do?”

Harry was smiling widely. Draco had seen his amusement over the predicaments at the Misuse Of Muggle Artifacts Office before, and it looked like one of those occasions was at hand again.

“You just put hats on the hooks when you come in the door, and then you pick them up and put them back on when you get set to leave. It should just sit there by the door, waiting for you to put hats on it.”

Arthur nodded sagely. “So…you’re certain that, in the normal course of things, they should never charm hats to stick to your head permanently?”

“Yeah. I’m certain. Hat’s should come off exactly the same as they went on.”

“Got it then! We were fairly certain that it shouldn’t animate and batter guests about the head and face, but we weren’t quite sure about how Muggles like their hats. No sticking! We’ll have that sorted out by tomorrow. Thanks, Harry. Do I smell a roast?”

Arthur strolled toward the kitchen, and Harry and Draco both chuckled when they heard Molly’s voice rise to clarity a minute later.

“ARTHUR WEASLEY! If you put your filthy hand in my oven ONE MORE TIME…I swear it will be the last! SHOO! Take your tea and wait until I’m finished! Off with you! GO!”

Arthur stumbled back into the room with tea in hand, and sat down in his favorite chair with a hint of pomp, still licking a bit of meat juice off of one finger.

“Mmm. Trust me lads, it’s going to be delicious.”

Draco let himself get over his shyness and speak. Something about the Weasleys invited comfort and familiarity, and he felt safe making a bit of conversation here.

“I wouldn’t tempt her wrath if I were you. She sounds like she’s a hair from throwing spells.”

Mr. Weasley gave a broad wink and leaned in conspiratorially. “Nothing to worry over, lads. If I’d been afraid of going after things when I want them, I wouldn’t be happily married with children after all these years. Let that be a lesson for the both of you!”

It was waggling eyebrows after that comment that broke up Harry, who almost got a stitch in his side, but Draco just smiled, biting back laughter that threatened to well up. He was out of practice at laughing, but he was getting the idea that it wouldn’t be hard to pick the habit back up around here.

TBC!!!