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 20: Touched


Molly Weasley drifted through her home in a bit of a daze, pre-occupied with the imminent arrival of her children. There were bedrooms that needed straightening, sheets and blankets that needed freshening, dust to be gotten rid of, and more. Harry wasn’t quite in her good books, especially since he’d managed to get Kingsley all riled up, and the man had left in a hurry, fretful and clearly frustrated. Then there had been this morning’s Daily Prophet, highlighting accounts of Shacklebolt’s public address this morning. The press conference had gone well enough for Kingsley, but it left suspicion resting upon Harry, and those suspicions were well warranted.

Molly paused by the window in what had once been Ron’s room. Her skin felt ridiculously tight, and itched something awful in this terrible heat. She hadn’t the faintest notion how the house had gotten so warm this time of year, but it was quite unbearable. She stepped to the window and opened it, letting the cool draught revive her. It was actually quite cold out, and November in England didn’t promise to get any warmer, but at the moment, the cool was refreshing and pleasant. Molly Weasley caught her breath, let herself have a moment of rest from the many worries nipping at her heels, and then closed the window and got on with her day.

She found Harry asleep in the chair by Draco’s bed, pot of salve unopened, and she was on edge of having harsh words…and then she saw their hands, linked just as before, and the faint flutter of hope awoke in her chest. Something was happening between them…something important…and good. She felt vindicated, seeing such proof that her wild notion of near a week ago was working. The earlier scene she’d witnessed could not be dismissed as a fluke now. Harry seemed to care for Draco, and even if he grudgingly undertook chores, and pretended otherwise, Draco mattered to him, and that in itself was a victory. Perhaps, just perhaps, if Harry could forgive one old enemy, then perhaps he could forgive the rest, and ultimately beat his sword into a plowshare, as the rest of the wizarding world had done. Molly moved on, unwilling to interrupt such a scene of peace and hope for the future, and she quietly moved from room to room, preparing for visits from her now grown children.

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Draco slept uncommonly well that afternoon, finally awakened by a bladder that demanded immediate attention, and by dreams that, while pleasant enough, were quite discomforting in their own right. Point blank, he woke up with an erection rubbing into the sheets, hanging on the precipice of orgasm. He hadn’t had a wet dream since he’d worked out the fundamentals of masturbation years ago, but he hadn’t had any sex drive to speak of for almost a year, until this week. The result was irritable confusion, and considerable embarrassment. At least he’d woke before anything had gone too far. It would have been far more humiliating to explain stained sheets and pajamas!

Draco slipped his hand away from Harry’s, hoping Harry would remain asleep while he slipped off to bathroom. Harry was breathing steadily and faintly, and Draco felt a weird tinge of regret when he untwined his hand from Harry’s and slipped out of bed.

It was bloody vexing, thinking about things like this when he really wanted to let his mind drift to safer topics, but his mind and body seemed determined to betray him at every turn. Given that this had happened several times in just the last couple of days, it was becoming glaringly obvious that, unless he was willing to endure the embarrassment of nocturnal emissions, which he had no wand to clean up after, he would have to take up masturbation as a means of sexual relief. At the moment, Draco wasn’t really comfortable with either plan, and privately wished that he could forget about all things sexual until some later, unspecified, date. Alas, it didn’t seem like that would come to pass.

Draco worked his way down the hall and into the bathroom, taking heart in the fact that, without potions diminishing his balance and energy, he could quickly walk a straight line for the first time in days. His need for the toilet was pressing, and the ability to move with haste was a blessing. Unfortunately, once he got there, his erection was still in place, preventing him from relieving himself in a timely fashion.

‘Fuck! It was better when I didn’t get these at all. What’s a good turn off? I need a way to get rid of this, just for now. McGonagall in tartan lingerie? Old Hagrid in a French Maid costume?’

Draco chuckled as his penis deflated rapidly. Some things never changed. He’d used notions like those to keep from having hard-ons in the middle of class, and the old standards still worked. As soon as his bladder was empty, Draco walked down the hall to his room, and noticed that Harry had already left. It was well past lunch, and most of the way to dinner. Molly must have let them sleep. She’d had to have seen him holding Harry’s hand. What would she think? He hoped she hadn’t thought it meant more than it did.

Harry was, in spite of all the anger at the surface, a really decent and soulful fellow, and when he wasn’t furious, he made Draco feel strangely safer just by being in the room. When Harry said that no one would hurt him here, it was true because he would back those words with the very real threat of his power, and his willingness to use it on those that threatened his home. Harry couldn’t fight dreams, or memories, or nightmares, but Draco had slept better for a few hours, just by knowing that Harry was there. The hand in his had been a link to his sleeping mind, a constant reminder that he was watched and guarded against all comers, whether they meant fair or foul, and it had felt good.

He mulled the problem over while he pulled on some new clothes. He’d had more time to pick through Molly’s selections, and found a few smaller items that hadn’t seen daylight since her younger boys were in school. Mostly Percy’s cast-offs, since he was the most slender of the lot.

Fuck knows he didn’t ever want to see Harry’s bad side directed at himself again! This wasn’t to say that he thought Harry was seriously dangerous to him, but Harry was a live wire, and more powerful than he’d ever suspected years ago. That much power held risks for everyone near him. A moment of extreme anger held the potential for destruction in a way that most wizards couldn’t possibly prepare for. He was thankful that Harry had so far only threatened mayhem, rather than openly venting his rage, as he had at the end of the walk that first evening. It showed that Harry was very serious about meeting Molly’s expectations about Draco’s treatment as a guest, and his willingness to hold Draco’s hand spoke volumes.

Draco reassured himself that there was nothing ‘poofy’ about it. He’d had a bloody awful time of it that morning. It was really decent of Harry to have watched over him, tolerating Draco’s pathetic shite, and then letting him cling to Harry like some poncy leech. Maybe he wouldn’t throw Draco out of the window for being sick, and fucking deviant, and all the rest, but that was all it was. He was just lucky he was in a house were they’d look the other way regarding his weaknesses…if they found out about them at all.

He was still fussing over his shirt, and worrying over his own fallibilities, when Harry walked back in and picked up the pot of Scaradicate Salve that was sitting on the small desk by the bed. He took a deep breath before speaking, which set Draco’s nerves on edge at the implication of bad news.

“Look…um…Draco. Molly wanted me to…well, she kind of ordered me to…oh, bugger all. I’m supposed to apply this stuff to you. Today. I kind of forgot about it because we were both tired after…you know, but I really, really don’t want to upset her, so if you’ll tell me where you’d like to start, we can just do a few scars and call it a day, right?”

Draco stared numbly, hoping that this was some horrible prank. Based on Harry’s flushed face and uncomfortable shuffling, he was dead serious, and Draco felt the first faint trace of nausea creeping up on him. Molly actually expected Harry to…to touch him? A tiny fluttering portion of his subconscious found the thought…interesting, but the rest of Draco’s psyche rebelled loudly.

“You’re kidding. She…she wouldn’t…I…”

Draco trailed off, unsure of what to say while stared at the pot of salve in Harry’s hand.

’FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! He’ll know! If I show any sign of liking him touching me…he’ll fucking know. Maybe they don’t hate queers in this house, but what about fucked-up ex-Death Eaters who have fucking filthy, sick thoughts about Harry Potter?! I could probably survive a fall from a second story window, but I don’t think I could still run fast enough to dodge curses.’

Harry interrupted his panicked train of thought.

“Hey. It’s alright. Take the Calming Draught first, okay. Here, drink it down and get a grip on yourself. If you want, I can cast a Cheering Charm or two. We can start on your arm. All we have to do is make a little progress, and Molly will be happy with the results. I know it’s not easy for you, but you can do this. You’re stronger than anyone would have guessed. I know you can do this, Draco.”

Draco grabbed the potion like a drowning man going after a last gasp of air, and downed three doses worth in one long pull. Calm suffused his being, and his heartbeat slowed in seconds, taking the edge off his panicked mentality almost immediately. Draco breathed deep, looked Harry in the eyes, and started unrolling his left sleeve.

“Right. Strong. Do this. We’re good, right?”

Monosyllables were about the most complex answers he could muster, and Harry took his seat in the chair while Draco sat back on the bed, thankful that he was still fully clothed. He laid his bare arm off to the side so that Harry could easily reach it without difficulty, and closed his eyes while he tried to think of something, anything but what was happening. With a little luck, maybe he wouldn’t humiliate himself completely in front of Harry.

He heard the scrape of the lid being removed from the pot, and he could almost sense Harry’s hand dipping into it. Surprisingly, Harry was a soft touch, almost ridiculously gentle, and he rubbed the stuff carefully into Draco’s skin with two fingers, so hesitant that it seemed like he was more nervous than Draco was! It gave Draco a certain tenuous confidence, and he exhaled loudly, having held his breath at the start of it.

Just being touched was still unnerving. He’d felt better when he was the one doing the touching, and it felt like conscious choice, rather than this, where he was subject to another’s actions. Being touched by Harry held a few complications beyond normal, but Draco had to admit that, with the Calming Draught, it wasn’t as bad as he had feared. He was also far too tense too feel any ’excitement’, and that was a great relief.

Calloused fingers massaged the salve into his skin, and a pungent mix of herbs was in the air, while vague warmth trickled through his arm. He opened his eyes, and watched the scars fade, leaving behind healthy, if a trifle pale, skin in the wake of the magic. Harry was keeping his eyes on his work, and never looked at Draco's face while he applied salve to each ugly mark on Draco’s flesh. Draco steeled himself and braved a little conversation.

“Did you read this morning’s Prophet? Minister Shacklebolt had a press conference. It didn’t sound too good. I don’t think they were satisfied with his answers, but I think he managed to keep the press at bay for a while. What do you think?”

Harry snorted. “I think Kingsley is doing the best he can, but you can’t really argue with stupid people. You can try, but it doesn’t do any good. They’ll print any garbage they can come up with, and if it had been left to them, Voldemort would have been running the country before they noticed anything was out of place. Morons, the lot of them. How‘d your little chat with him go last night?”

“It wasn’t really that bad. He tried to hint that he could get the Ministry to help me out…if I had information that was useful to them. I really don’t have any, but even if I did, they were complete bastards to me when Snape first turned us both in. I don’t have any more knowledge now than I did then. Besides, the reason I was finally dumped off in London was because they were changing locations to steer clear of you. Hyde-Pratt thought he got recognized in Diagon Alley while picking up supplies, and they packed everything up, shoved me into a seat in the back of a Muggle auto, and then took off. Next thing I know, MacNair is shoving me out of an open door, and I was face down in the gutter. End of story. Just names, no places, no details to share that would be of any use. That’s probably the only real reason I’m alive. If I’d known something really dangerous to them, I know they’d have killed me. Fucking bastards.”

Harry’s touch trembled a little. “They…they let you go…because they were afraid of me?”

“Yeah. I remember a little of it. My uncle was furious with Hyde-Pratt. He said it was ‘much too soon for a meeting with Mr. Potter.’”

Harry’s hand stopped moving, and Draco looked up, curious. Harry was staring intently at him.

“Too soon? Does he actually think he can take me on? He’s delusional as well as a complete prat if he thinks he has enough firepower to stand against me for more than a few minutes. Any idea what he was talking about?”

“Not really. I was pretty out of it by the time we got to London. I couldn’t even say how long it took to get there. I half believed it was a dream anyway. I hadn’t been outdoors in almost a year.”

Harry pulled away from Draco’s arm and they looked at his handiwork. The lighter scarring had all but vanished, and even the heavier scar tissue was fading noticeably. A second treatment, and the lower half of Draco’s arm would look like he’d never been hurt. Draco smiled in amazement. He flexed his hand, watching muscles move beneath healthy skin, and rolled his sleeve down.

“Good enough for today? Molly should be starting dinner soon. You feel well enough to come downstairs tonight?”

Harry waited patiently for his answer. Draco sat up and took a deep breath.

“Yeah. Yes I do. And…I think I can handle the stairs…but it’s nice to know you’re watching out for me. Thanks.”

Harry blushed. Why Draco found that adorable was beyond him, but it was kind of heartening to think that he could make the most feared man in the wizarding world blush. Perhaps the famous Malfoy charm wasn’t dead and buried after all.

They left Draco’s room behind, and headed down the stairs. Watched, and secure in the knowledge that no ill would come to him, Draco made it down without even breaking a sweat. It seemed like such a small thing to be happy about, but he’d take his happiness where he could find it. The fact that Harry looked as happy for Draco as he himself did wasn’t lost on him either.

TBC!!!