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 17: Facing The Music


Harry brooded, far from the Weasley Burrow, painfully aware of the complications he would have to deal with upon his return. His task was complete, for now, but the Burrow had always seemed a haven from worry and trouble…until now. Now he had Draco to think of, and Molly’s concern over his actions as well. Every time she read another Daily Prophet, and a killing made the front page, Harry heard about it. His return would herald a string of attempts to force him to stop his personal vendetta, and he had no particular desire to hear such things right now.

He wasn’t particularly amused by Draco’s sudden growth of a spine either. Being lectured about the evils of killing Death Eaters by a former Death Eater who had spent a year as their victim just boggled Harry’s mind. It was unthinkable that Draco could have no desire for revenge. Unnatural, that’s what it was. Bloody unnatural.

Harry looked at the rising sun on the horizon. He’d sat out all night, on a hilltop at the edge of Ottery St. Catchpole, cold be damned. He was oblivious to discomfort, partly due to his own hardy constitution, and partly due to a spell that kept his clothes dry despite the damp chill in the late fall air. He’d thought of nothing for the first few hours, just allowing his mind to drift while he calmed down from the mind searing rush of action that accompanied each raid he undertook. Now he had the leisure to think calmly of other things, and Draco was at the forefront of his mind.

‘Fuck. I didn’t mean to lose my temper like that. He…he interrupted me…challenged me…ignored me when I tried to make it clear that it was none of his business. What the hell did he think he was doing? It was like covering himself in bacon grease and slapping a starving wolf across the nose with a rare steak! I just…I lost my temper. I didn’t mean to scare him that badly. I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t have really done that to him…would I?’

He’d threatened Legilimency, and in the red haze of his memory, he suspected that he’d meant it then. He wouldn’t do such a thing in a calm state of mind, but Draco had a lifetime of pushing Harry’s buttons working against him. Harry changed his train of thought, uncomfortable with the notion that his impulses weren’t under his control.

Molly and Arthur would sleep late, this being Arthur’s day off, and Harry let the sun finish rising, setting the snowy hills in the distance afire with blazing caps of gold. It was time to go home and get some rest.

Harry stood and Apparated to the end of the walk at the Burrow. He looked about, thinking of how he’d first seen Draco here, and lost his temper so quickly he’d nearly killed him. It was just barely a week since Draco’s arrival, and he’d gone from naked hatred to…to…well, something better. Lust? Admiration? Sympathy? Maybe. Maybe some of each, or not quite any of the above. Something had changed…was changing…about the way he thought of Draco, and it made Harry as nervous as hell.

‘I like him…more than I did. I thought he’d understand better than anyone why I do this, but against all the fucking odds, he doesn’t! Eight years, a war, everything about our lives is different now, and he still drives me absolutely fucking scatty! Damn it to hell!’

It was past time for a little well-earned rest, and Harry made the journey down to the Burrow and slipped quietly through the front door. Molly Weasley suddenly emerged from the kitchen and advanced on him like the Hogwarts Express at full steam! Harry backed up a couple of steps and found his back pressed against the door, blocking further retreat. He stared down, wide-eyed, at the furious, plump little woman looking up at him…and quailed with terror.

“Harry James Potter!” Molly’s voice was just above a livid hiss, more dangerous than Harry had ever heard before. “How dare you! How dare you leave in the middle of the night! Draco’s had a fit, Dreamless Sleep can’t seem to snap him out of it, Arthur and I have been up for hours trying to bring him around, and our spells just aren’t strong enough. When I look for help, from the person who PROMISED me he’d be there to help me, he’s gone! Out off to who knows where in the dark of night! You think I’m a sweet, old fool, all bluster and no charge, but let me tell you this, Harry, and you listen close! If you don’t get up there and help us help that boy…this minute!…it will be a cold day in hell before I have a kindly word for you again! Now MARCH!”

Harry hustled, taking the stairs three at a time, painfully aware that he was in a houseful of completely awake people, still dressed in his fighting robes, armed to the teeth, and practically caught dead to rights coming back from a mission. Worse, what Molly didn’t know, and what filled Harry with a sick kind of dread, was the gnawing fear that he’d been responsible for Draco’s collapse. He’d threatened to Legilimize Draco, and he remembered Draco’s near-complete loss of reserve at the mere threat of it.

Harry entered the room, and an exhausted looking Arthur Weasley, in a rather tatty old bathrobe, was consulting a battered tome and testing spells one at a time on Draco, muttering incantations to himself quietly, then aloud as he attempted them. One look at Draco confirmed Harry’s worst suspicions. Draco was almost as gray as ash, lying motionless and wide-eyed, practically catatonic. Harry knew the terms from his Occlumency studies, and he knew the maladies and conditions of the mind well enough to recite passage after passage. Spells and potions could affect Draco’s body, heal his wounds, and see to his physical needs, but they could not reach his mind.

“Wait, Arthur…I think I know what I need to do. I just need you to be ready with an Immobilizing Spell when I finish, something to let him sleep. He might react badly to me pulling him out of the state he’s in, and he could hurt himself if we let him run about. Ready?”

Arthur dropped the book and readied his wand, looking askance a moment at Harry’s combat garb.

“Let’s have at it then…I’m ready.”

Harry concentrated and reached out with mental hands. In the flash flood of panic that was Draco’s overwhelmed mind, Harry effectively slammed on the brakes, jerking Draco back to full consciousness in an instant. Draco sucked in an enormous breath of air, sat bolt upright, and began to scream like a freshly pulled Mandrake Root. Arthur cast his spell, and Draco flopped back onto the bed, limp as a rag, breathing heavily even in forced slumber. Harry followed up with a string of spells that were all beneficial, or at least he hoped they would be, and Arthur gave a deep sigh of relief while Draco’s face slowly returned to its normal color.

“Well done, Harry! I was at my wit's end. Couldn’t seem to get him out of that stupor. Poor thing woke up screaming in the middle of the night. Potion wore off or some such, next thing I know, we’re fighting tooth and nail to get him into the bed, and he went rigid-like, all silent as the grave, then started convulsing. Sicked up all over the place. Didn’t think a wee thing like him had that much in him. Good thing Molly’s a dab hand at Cleaning Spells! Likewise, thank Merlin it’s my day off. If you’ll keep an eye on him, I’ll see how Molly’s doing and catch a cup of tea…I’m at a perfect loss until I’ve had my morning cuppa.”

“I’ve got him, Arthur. He’ll be fine. Go ahead and let Molly know it's alright. I’ll…I’ll just sit here a bit and watch him.”

Harry’s tone was distracted, and Arthur was already shuffling off toward the kitchen, yawning mightily as he reached the stairs. Harry sat down in the chair beside the bed, looking at what was likely his handiwork from last night. Dreamless Sleep was not a cure all, and it had limits to its power. It granted temporary oblivion to those haunted by nightmares, but Draco was haunted by memories. The potion could take the edge off of his dreaming mind’s ramblings, but it couldn’t erase what had actually happened. Draco would suffer the after effects of his past torment until he made his peace with it all, and that could be a long time in coming.

He’d terrified Draco when he’d threatened to invade his mind and take information by force. Apparently, Draco feared having his memories seen by another, and not without good reason. Harry could see that. He shouldn’t have been so hasty when he was angry. It had only taken one outrage-fueled threat to send Draco spiraling into panicked and despair-filled memories.

Harry took Draco’s limp hand in his own. It was paler by far than his, and the contrast was striking. His own hand was calloused, sun-darkened, and muscular. Draco’s hand was as slight and pale as the rest of him, with long, elegant fingers and a strange softness that came of never having labored as Harry had. He felt closer and more intimate with Draco, just by holding his hand, and it seemed almost stupid to do so, but Harry bowed closer and whispered. There were things he felt he just had to say, and it would only be harder to say them when Draco was awake.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I won’t…I wouldn’t do that to you. I was wrong to even say it. I’ll make it up to you…I promise. I’ll find a way to fix this. I…I don’t know what to do, and I hate it. I hate feeling like...like I can’t set things right. I spent my whole life getting pushed and shoved into things I could barely handle, and making it up as I went along. I just hate feeling like I don’t know what’s next. Would you understand that? Could you…even if you were awake? I’m all alone here. Even with people all around me, I’m always alone, because there are things I know that I can never share, and I think you know what that feels like. I’m tired, and I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I swear I’m trying to do what I think is right. I can set things right…I can, but I just need more time. I need more time.”

Harry trailed off, the aftermath of adrenaline leaving him suddenly exhausted. He hadn’t slept since the day before, and his exhaustion was complete and absolute. Between the scene with Molly downstairs, and his own nagging guilt over Draco’s condition, he felt raw and utterly wrung out. Sitting in the comfortable old chair beside the bed, Harry fell asleep, Draco’s hand still held gently in his own.

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


Molly and Arthur sat at breakfast, still drowsy and sluggish from several hours of tending to Draco. Molly had needed almost an hour before she was even willing to speak Harry’s name. She knew full well what he’d been up to, and the thought of it was enough to fuel a towering outrage in her. The nerve! Dashing about the countryside with mayhem on his mind, when they needed help here. As if killing people was more important than his own home and the people who cared about him most. It was shameful! Arthur eyed her from across the table, and a small smile was on his lips. She frowned crossly and gave him a look that demanded he explain himself.

“A Knut for your thoughts, love. That’s all.”

Molly sighed deeply. “I don’t know what I’ve done, Arthur. Draco needs help, very serious help, and I’m trying, but I’m not sure I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew. And Harry! Harry is supposed to be helping me, but he’s haring off about England doing Merlin knows what, none of it good, and I can’t do it all alone. I’m at the end of my rope, Arthur, the absolute end of my rope! And what on earth are you smiling about, you daft, old fool!”

Arthur leaned forward, chin up defiantly and eyes sparkling.

“I’m smiling because I remember when we had a houseful of children, and we scarcely had a pair of Sickles to rub together, and there didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day to get everything done, and we wouldn’t have made it…if it hadn’t been for you. We’ll get this sorted out yet, love. You haven’t let me down in almost thirty years, and I’m not even sure you could. It might not be easy, but we’ll make do just as we always have. Just breathe easy, Molly. Drink your tea and we’ll have ourselves a good nap a bit later to catch up on the rest we need, and then we’ll worry about all the rest, hmm?”

Molly melted in her seat. There was no wondering why she’d married Arthur Weasley. The man had a good streak a mile wide, and for all his dithering and fussing over Muggle knick knacks and office hi-jinks, he was a good and faithful man at heart. She held his hand across the table, trying to maintain a little composure and not cry over breakfast. She felt good enough to look in on Harry and Draco in a bit, but it could wait until she’d finished her tea with her husband.

Arthur eventually toddled off for a late morning shower, and after cleaning up the kitchen, Molly brought along a few bites and a cup of fresh tea for Harry. She composed herself before heading upstairs, hoping to contain any emotional outpouring that might try to escape. When she rounded the corner and stood at the door to Draco’s room, she stopped cold, thankful she hadn’t dropped her tray and woken them both.

Harry looked as innocent as the child she remembered, sleeping quietly in the chair, one arm stretched, his hand clasped peacefully over Draco’s. Draco slept a spell-forced slumber, unmoving save for the slim chest that rose and fell softly, and the entire scene held an air of complete peace.

Molly turned and left for the kitchen. It was hard to stay angry at Harry for long, and she’d just been reminded of why. He was nineteen, a veteran of a war that started before he was born, a killer, and sometimes thoughtless, but he loved, he meant well, and he protected the people he cared about the best he could. She didn’t see anything amiss in Harry’s gesture. To her, it meant that Harry had finally added another person to the flock that he guarded, and as far as Molly was concerned, that was all for the better.

It was a day of many owls that day. Every time Molly tried to do something with her day, be it knitting, housekeeping, or napping, another owl dropped post at their step. First it was The Prophet, with news she didn’t dare to read. The headline was more than she could stomach already.

DUMBLEDORE’S REVENGE STRIKES AGAIN?

She left The Prophet aside, meaning to leave it on Harry’s bed, the unspoken message being her deep disapproval. In the meantime, she tried her best to accomplish her knitting projects, which needed finishing before the holidays, and was interrupted by yet another owl!

Kingsley Shacklebolt would be visiting tonight, and since the letter wasn’t Ministry sealed, it was a private visit from an old Order member, not a work-related visit. It was all for the better in Molly’s mind, since she rather approved of Kingsley, and thought he’d made an exceptional Minister, likely the best in decades.

Molly’s attempt to clean the house properly for company was disrupted by two further owls, and these were happy news as well, at least mostly. Ron was coming to visit this week, as he’d gotten a one game suspension from the Cannons for pummeling another player senseless, and he’d decided to drop by home while he had the time off. Ron drank quite a bit more than Molly was comfortable with, but he managed himself well most of the time or he wouldn’t have done so well with the Cannons. Still, it would be good to see her baby boy again.

Charlie and Dula were coming to visit in just two days, and that gave Molly a happy heart on the spot. Charlie was so far away that they rarely saw him save on the holidays, and whatever some people may have thought about his relationship with his ’friend’, Molly adored Dula, who was everything she’d tried so very hard to get her sons to be. Quiet and polite, sophisticated without being snobbish, cultured and eloquent, and most of all, civilized around company. For the scion of one of those rather spooky, old, continental wizarding families, Dula was as fine an addition to the family as any daughter-in-law would have been, and Molly enjoyed every visit thoroughly. A little laughter was just what this house needed.

Molly took a short nap at two, feeling a bit dizzy and terribly warm, but the morning had been a hard one, and it didn’t surprise her a bit that she was tired. Harry and Draco had slept the morning and afternoon away, and when Molly woke, it was with a faint panic when she realized she hadn’t set dinner and such for company, and there could only be a few more hours before Kingsley arrived. She hurried, flustered, into the kitchen, only to find Arthur half finished with making a pot of beef stew.

“Stop all that fretting. It’s my day off, and you needed the rest, love. I just let you sleep. You can take over if you want…I haven’t got your way with spices, but it’s mostwise ready to cook right now.”

Molly felt relief wash over her. Thank Merlin Arthur had things in hand. She hadn’t napped the afternoon away like that in years.

“Oh! Good man, Arthur, dear. Have a look in on the boys and see if they’re up yet, will you. Thank you, love.”

Molly fumbled with her spice jars, hurriedly dropping pinches and sprinkles into the simmering broth, and sniffed to see if Arthur had left anything out of the mix. She loved her husband, but he’d been known to forget things in the kitchen, like main ingredients, from time to time. This time he appeared to have been at his best, and Molly sighed with relief again.

Arthur nipped upstairs cheerily, feeling like the day had passed better than expected, given how rough the morning started. His footsteps on the stairs were what finally woke Draco from his initially spell-induced slumber.

Draco was conscious of heavy footfalls on the stairs, and his eyes were fluttering to open, but were gummy and crusted with the residue of tears. His next realization was that a hand was closed around his own. He turned his head and pulled his eyes open, blinking blearily, only to find Harry next to him, still asleep in the chair, one dark and calloused hand around Draco’s own. As Arthur stepped into the room, Draco pulled his hand away as if scalded, too rattled to even think about the vague sense of comfort it had produced, if only for a half-conscious second. Arthur’s head popped around the edge of the door, peeking to see if they were up, but Harry still snored softly.

“Hullo, lads. Good to see you up, Draco! Feeling a bit better, I hope?”

Draco didn’t trust his voice, since his throat felt raw again, and he nodded quietly. Harry started to wakefulness, and peered about, confused and edgy, then realized he was sitting next to Draco, still dressed in his combat robes.

Arthur told them dinner would be ready in perhaps a bit more than two hours, and that Kingsley Shacklebolt was coming over to join them. Harry’s eyes flickered a moment, but outwardly he seemed perfectly calm. After all, Kingsley was an old friend, right?
As soon as Arthur was gone, Draco turned to Harry, shuddering in spite of himself. His voice was a subdued rasp, still raw from screams he could barely remember uttering, and didn’t want to. He stared at the blankets while he addressed Harry.

“I’m sorry…I shouldn’t hav-”

“No. You have nothing to be sorry about. Don’t apologize. I lost my temper. I don’t understand you, or why you’d want them alive, but I was wrong to say what I said. I…it won’t happen again. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. Just…just try to get well, okay?”

Draco blinked, no longer sure of what to think. Harry seemed genuinely contrite, and it was a shift of situations Draco couldn’t handle while barely awake. Harry broke the tension by standing and heading for the door.

“Look. I have to change, Kingsley is coming over…I’ll be back in a few. Just need a shower and a change.”

“Harry.”

He stopped and turned back. Draco’s hands fidgeted nervously, and even bleared by sleep, his eyes were hauntingly serious.

“About…about what you don’t understand. I’ve seen…things…no one should see. I know what evil is, or at least I think I do. I know what people are capable of, things I never could have done, or even thought of, and I’m sick of them, Harry. I don’t care about…about what happened…to me. There’s too much killing, too much wrong, too much vengeance going back and forth. I don’t want to see it, or cause it, or be any part of it…ever. I just want to forget. I’d like to be…okay…someday. I don’t think I could do that, if I wanted revenge. They belong in Azkaban, Harry. My uncle, Rodolphus LeStrange, that horrible ape MacNair, and Hyde-Pratt. They deserve to rot forever in a stinking cell until they die of old age, but they belong in Azkaban. Do what you have to, but I just want them stopped…not killed, not murdered for revenge. Can you understand that?”

Harry bit his tongue, breath stopped in his chest.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I can understand that. I won’t promise anything I can’t deliver, but…I’ll see about it.”

“Thank you. I…you’ll come back when you’re finished, right?”

Harry nodded and left for his room, gathering clothes, stowing away his gear and readying for a shower. Draco sat in silence, and finally reached up to the table and took a potion for his sore throat, as well as a dose of Calming Draught.

Too many things were going through his mind, and it was hard to sort them. He liked Harry…when Harry was…rational. He was sweet, and good, and strong in the ways that Draco wasn’t. He felt…safe, but only when Harry was rational. He half-hated himself for feeling so odd around Harry, even in the face of Potter’s black and terrifying rage. It was wrong, and sick, and the kind of thing only a weak, pathetic excuse for a person would want, even when they knew they shouldn’t. But he couldn’t make it stop.

His left hand still felt weirdly warm, like some echo of Harry’s desire to guard and comfort him was still with him, even after the man had left the room. There was something good there, and somewhere inside, Draco ached to see more of it, feel more of it, and live in a world where that feeling was a part of his life. Harry might never return that feeling, and Draco knew full well that he wouldn’t know what to do if anyone ever did. Probably run like hell. The entire thing was just fucked, but…but it was nice to dream about something…instead of nightmares…wasn’t it?

TBC!!!