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 25: What Do I Do?


Ron was howling curses between blows, screaming incoherently as the others rushed in. Charlie grabbed Ron by the scruff of the neck, and despite being a hair shorter and somewhat lighter, he hauled Ron off of Draco’s limp body with scarcely any effort, and pinned him to the floor, still struggling and spitting curses through his tears. Harry was at Draco’s side, and Arthur and Dula were checking Molly over. A hasty Enervate, and Molly’s color returned and her eyelids began to flutter. She seemed confused, and was too clearly too disoriented to speak just yet. All the while, Ron was shrieking in the background, half insane with the notion that his mother had just been killed or maimed. Harry turned from Draco to Dula and called out in desperation.

“Dula! Help me, please! I don’t know the spells for this! He’s got multiple broken ribs, and his lungs are punctured…he’s dying! Please! You have to help him…now!”

Dula and Charlie had been trained to deal with severe medical ailments, as dragon handlers often placed themselves in the path of danger, and routinely needed serious healing while taming their saurian charges. Dula rattled off spell after spell, and crackling bone and cartilage could be heard inside Draco’s chest. Draco began to cough, and vomited bloody froth, clearing his lungs of matter. A deep breath later, Draco passed back out, breathing softly, and Dula finished with just a few spells to finish the job and ensure a very swift recovery.

“Harry. Take him upstairs and put him to bed. He’ll need the rest. I’ll be up soon to check on him.”

Arthur spoke worriedly as Molly began to come around. “That’s a girl, Molly. How are you, love. You alright, Molls? Say a little something for us, love. Let me know you’re well. Dula? What happened?”

“I am uncertain, sir. All that I can tell for sure is that she fainted, and the spells I used all indicate that she is quite healthy. It is to my regret that I am not a trained Healer, however much I must know for my trade. She should see a professional medi-witch for a more thorough diagnosis. They may know what I do not. I can only assure you that nothing of great or immediate danger has occurred. Charlie, my love, can you quiet your brother? It is difficult to concentrate.”

Ron was still hysterical, and Harry was having trouble getting past the spectacle on the kitchen floor with Draco in his arms. Charlie solved the matter neatly by drawing his wand and Stunning Ron right on the spot, then dragging him out of Harry’s way.

“I’ll take care of Ronald, you just look after Mum. Da, can you Floo Madam Pomfrey this late? She’d know what’s going on if anyone would.”

Charlie lifted Ron over his shoulder and headed for the front door, trailing along behind Harry, who was headed up the stairs with Draco, who, at under a hundred and twenty pounds, was scarcely even a burden. Charlie got Ron out the door, closed it behind them, and unceremoniously dropped his younger brother to the ground. Then he removed the spell.

Ron snapped back to life, immediately crawling towards the door. His voice was down to a thick croak.

“Mum…mum…”

Charlie pinned his brother again, this time quickly holding him close, binding Ron’s arms to his chest.

“Easy there, brother mine. Mum’s fine. No one’s even hurt but Draco, and you did that, ya fuckin’ prat. Take a deep breath. Get it all out, mate.”

Ron broke down entirely, going limp in his brother’s arms with relief, and weeping quietly.

“I…I fuckin’ thought…I thought he’d…killed her. Mum’s okay? You’re telling me true?”

“Draco had a cut on his hand. Mum just fainted. You nearly murdered him, you complete fuckwit! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Now that Ron was calm and relatively coherent, Charlie let go of him and stood up.

“The press has you figured right. You’re a complete wanker. I don’t care what you’ve been wrestling with, Ron, but you’d better get the fuck over it…and soon. When Mum finds out that you mauled a guest under sanctuary just because you panicked, you’d better not be within wand range of her!”

“He…he had her…wand. What was I supposed to think?”

“THAT’S JUST IT! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO THINK! For more than a half second! I’m sick of it! We’re all sick of it! You’re drinking yourself into your damned grave, and all you do is run at things, and people, with your fists up and swinging! This is long overdue, little brother. The war is fucking over! There are people here who love you, and they fucking need you…now!”

“But…but…”

“HERMIONE IS DEAD, RON!”

“DON’T! Don’t you fuckin’ say that!”

“Hermione is dead! It wasn’t your bloody fault, and even the people who did it are dead and buried, too!”

“NOOOOO!”

Ron lunged at Charlie, and was tripped and thrown to the ground easily, then pinned so adeptly that he couldn’t so much as twitch.

“You can’t punch your way out of this, Ronny! Accept it! No more running away! Hermione isn’t coming back, and you’re killin’ yourself because you won’t let go. If you’d acted like this while she was alive, she’d have dumped you just on principle! If you love her like you say, then fucking live like she’d have wanted you to!”

Ron flexed and tried to twist free, spitting curses and gnashing his teeth with helpless rage. After several long minutes, the storm broke, and Ron collapsed into a sobbing wreck, weeping into his brother’s shoulder. Charlie patted his younger brother’s back, and let his grip slacken, knowing that the worst was over. The rest would be up to Ron, and all he could do was throw as much support Ron’s way as possible.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat in the snow, holding Ron, and listening to his youngest living sibling weep, but eventually, Ron began to stir, and simply laid back in the snow, staring at the stars. Ron sniffled and wiped his nose with his sleeve.

“She was going to be my wife, Charlie. We were gonna have kids…lots of ’em. Little Weasleys that Mum an’ Da could dote on. I’m a fuckin’ war hero…an’ I play pro Quidditch like it’s nothing. She was the other half of my dreams. I can’t get it back. It’s all gone. She’s gone forever. That’s a long fuckin’ time, mate. Whatta I do?”

Charlie laid back in the snow and took a deep breath.

“Fuck if I know, Ron. Do it day by day. Go to work, see your friends and the people who love you. Stop trying to kill damn near everyone who gets in your way. Oh…and lay off the fucking whiskey…it’ll kill your game and then where will you be? There must be a million girls looking to meet you. Date them, one at a time, and some day you just might find one you like. Don’t look for another Hermione…you won’t find one, and you’ll never be happy. Look for one who’s good just as she is, for who she is, and love her like she’s the only woman in your world. Maybe I’m wrong…an’ all that’s just what I think…but you can try that for starters. If you need to talk, I’ll be there for you. So will Harry, or any of us for that matter. Just try, mate. That’s all we want to see.”

Ron wiped his nose again.

“Yeah. I…I can do that. If Mum doesn’t have my head first.”

Charlie chuckled.

“Can’t help you with that, mate. You’re well and rightly fucked on that one, and no mistake. I say we head back in, check in on Mum, and then we see about you telling Draco you’re sorry. Did you even see the poor wee thing? Ya broke half his ribs, and he was spitting up blood left an’ right. You owe him more than some mumbled apology, Ron. You’ve got a real debt to pay there. You ready to go in?”

“Aye.”

Charlie sat up and gave Ron his hand, and hauled his brother upright. They dusted the snow off their clothes, and headed back in to face the music.

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


Harry placed Draco in his bed and pulled the sheets and blankets up to his chest, then sat nervously, listening to Draco’s slightly rattling breaths. He could hear the Floo activating downstairs, as Arthur summoned Madam Pomfrey. Draco’s eyes fluttered open, and he pulled in a breath and coughed violently, still spitting small flecks of blood out and onto his hand.

“Har-Harry. Molly…I didn’t…I swear I was…”

“It’s okay…you don’t have to say anything, just lay back and rest. I know you wouldn’t hurt her. Ron saw her down…and blood on your hand…and he just went barmy on the spot. It’s not your fault…not any of it. It’s a good thing Dula was here, or we’d have been in a real fix. With Molly down, no one knew how to reset your ribs and heal your lungs. If he hadn’t been so quick with the spells you needed, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Molly, Harry. Is she okay? She has to be okay…please!”

“Dula said she was alright. She just fainted, but he didn’t know why. Madam Pomfrey is coming, and she’ll sort this out so fast it’ll make your head spin. Trust me…she’ll be fine.”

Draco closed his eyes and exhaled roughly.

“Harry…I…I’m okay. Go check on Molly. When Pomfrey’s done, let me know how she is then, okay? I’ll be waiting. I just want to know she’ll be alright.”

Harry looked a bit confused, unsure why Draco was so needy when he should worry for himself first, but he relented and headed back downstairs. It was the first time since arriving that Draco had used Slytherin guile for anything less than completely noble. As he rose from the bed, wincing at the slowly fading pain in his chest, he knew what he had to do, and without a wand, there was only one way he knew to do it.

Draco limped down the hall and into Harry’s room. There on the work desk was an enormous black knife in an equally black sheath. He fumbled with strap that held it in place, but finally pulled it free and knelt down. His hands were shaking far too much to trust himself holding the thing, and it was weirdly heavy for a knife, but then he’d never really held one before. He propped the hilt between his knees, the edge pointing away from his body.

’I don’t belong here. No one will ever really believe in me…not enough to matter. They’ll always see the fucking Mark, like Ron. I’m a fucking charity case, wandless, and a fucking ponce as well. I should have died back then. I shouldn’t be alive…Snape should have killed me, or Dumbledore should have let me fail…let the Dark Lord kill me. I don’t belong here. I’m just so fucking tired of this. Maybe there’s an afterlife, or maybe not. I don’t care. I just…I just want to rest. Never have to think these things…again. I have to go, or this will never stop. It’s the only way.’

Draco held his bared wrist near the bottom of the blade, and biting his tongue and clenching his eyes shut to hold back tears, he jerked his arm upward, letting Harry’s razor-sharp blade cut deep. The pain was bracing, and he gasped despite trying to stay silent. His blood flowed quickly, and the knife slipped down from between his legs and clattered to the floor, while Draco stared in shock at what he’d done. He could see through skin and muscle, almost sure that he saw the white of bone. He tumbled forward as his vision blurred, and he was still conscious of the lancing pain in his arm as his sense of reality slipped away in a cloudy haze.

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


Madam Pomfrey had arrived in due hurry, more than willing to come for an emergency. Hogwarts was still working toward its re-opening, and she’d had little to do but care for the staff. She found Molly laying upon a couch in the living room, Arthur at her side, listening to her slightly hysterical pronouncements about her good health.

“Molly, dear. Please just relax and breath slowly. Don’t get yourself all worked up. A few spells and we should know a little more. If you’ll excuse me, please.”

Arthur moved out of the way, letting Poppy work unhindered, but he paced nearby, fretting terribly, and refusing to speak, half afraid he’d babble like an idiot in front of the entire family.

Harry came back down the stairs as Poppy began her diagnostic spells, and watched quietly and intently while she worked. Poppy frowned at first, then rattled off a second series of divinatory spells, nodding sagely to herself when she was done.

“Good news, Molly, dear. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re a picture of good health for a woman of your age. This is nothing that can‘t be taken care of with a little work.”

Arthur frowned, obviously confused by the seemingly contradictory statement.

“How can you say that? Our Molls fainted dead away…what do you mean by ’she’s in good health’, when she’s falling down like that?”

Molly spoke up. “Shhh, Arthur, dear. I’m alright. It was just a dizzy spell. I’m just fine. Go on, Poppy. There’s nothing I wouldn’t want Arthur, Harry or Dula to hear.”

“I didn’t say that you haven’t anything to deal with, merely that you’re in excellent health. You’ve started menopause, Molly. Hardly a serious thing, unless left unattended. There can be complications when this isn’t treated, and they can be serious, but not often, and we’ve twigged to this quite early for you. We have potions for this that don’t need to be taken terribly often, and some simple spells that will keep the symptoms quite mild. Eventually, your body’s hormones will adjust to their new levels, and you’ll be just right as rain. It’s exceedingly unlikely that further pregnancies are in your future, but that’s perfectly acceptable to you, I’m sure, with so many wonderful children in your family and all.

I’ll have a potion, and the recipe for it, owled to you by morning, and we’ll discuss some spells before I go. I expect to see you again next week, and we’ll see how you’re doing then, but I can assure you all that this is a perfectly natural state, and that with the exception of the usual symptoms of menopause, Molly is the very picture of good health. I might suggest taking a day off and having yourself a good sit down for awhile, though. You might feel better after I get that potion to you, but until then, don’t push yourself so hard, Molly.”

The room was full of an atmosphere of unconditional relief, and Molly looked a bit addled and surprised. She’d idly worried that something worse was wrong, and hadn’t dared mention a thing for fear of worrying others while there was so much to be done. She felt positively giddy with relief to hear that she was fine after all. Arthur flopped into his chair, looking like he’d been pulled through a wringer, and smiled at Molly with unbridled near worship. There couldn’t have been anything more terrifying for him than the notion of losing his wife, and he couldn’t remember feeling happier than he did the moment he’d heard she was alright. He mopped his brow with a handkerchief, obscuring from others the hidden task of wiping small tears from the corner of his eyes. Dula patted him on the back.

“It makes such sense now. I am glad it was nothing more than this, Arthur. Your wife is a most uncommon woman, and I cannot tell you enough how it pleases me to see that she is well.”

Arthur reached up and patted Dula’s hand.

“Thank you, lad. That sentiment speaks well of you. I’m just glad you were here. It might have a been a tragedy tonight if you and Charlie hadn’t come, bless you both.”

Harry headed back up the stairs after quickly letting Molly know how relieved he was, and he knew Draco would be happy to hear it was nothing serious after all. The door to Draco’s room was open, and the bed was empty. Harry turned back down the hall and peered into the bathroom.

“Draco?”

There was no answer, and the bathroom was as empty as the bedroom. Draco was a bit ‘out of it’, and he might have wandered off…but where? Harry walked back down the hall, prepared to check room by room. He was prepared to find Draco crying. It had happened before. He knew Draco hadn’t had any sleep that past night, either, and he might very well have been overwrought and could have fallen into unconsciousness quite easily. He wasn’t prepared at all for what he found when he opened the door to his own room.

Draco had slumped sideways, eyes glassy and open, staring at the far wall. Harry’s knife was at his knees, crimson stained and fallen after use, and Draco’s arm was laid open to the bone and bleeding sluggishly. Draco’s face was half soaked in the pool of his own blood that had spread more than two feet around his wounded arm, and he looked almost as ghastly pale as he had when he’d first arrived at the Burrow, cooling tears still drying on his cheeks.

Harry had seen a lot of death, and had even been covered in gore after particularly difficult raids. Nothing could have prepared him for seeing a person he cared for hanging on the edge of death, having inflicted their wound upon themself. Harry froze for an instant, too horrified to even find his voice and call for help. Time and the world slowed down to a mere crawl, and Harry stood and stared at what Draco had done to himself. He’d seemed so strong, after so many things had happened to him, that it hadn’t seemed possible for Draco to actually break. It was a horrifying irony that, having come to this place to be healed, he’d finally been hurt beyond his ability to hunger for life.

Reality snapped back into place, and Harry sucked in a deep breath and screamed for Dula. He flung every small spell he knew for the closing of wounds into Draco’s arm, and watched the flesh slowly heal, but there had been an enormous amount of blood lost, and he hadn’t a spell for that. Dula took over a heartbeat later, casting spell after spell over Harry’s shoulder, quiet and determined, while Harry knelt in front of Draco’s body, stroking Draco’s expressionless face. The skin was clammy and yet almost feverish, and Harry lost track of what was taking place around him, only cognizant of following Draco as he was Levitated from the floor and floated back to his bed, wrist newly healed and faintly red.

He sat and watched while potions were administered by funnel, since Draco was unconscious and would remain so for awhile, and he knew there were voices around him, and people were coming and going and saying things to him while he nodded, but he wasn’t sure what was being said. There was a loud argument downstairs, albeit a brief one, and then the sound of the Floo being used at least twice. None of it mattered to him. His entire world had shrunk, and consisted of only a small room with a bed and two chairs, and a small, terribly pale, blond boy whose eyes were closed, and whose breath came in small and inconsistent rhythms.

’What can I do? How do I make him want to be alive? Can you tell someone you’ve only really known for more than a week that you love them? Would he even take something like that the right way? I’m sorry I yelled when he said those things about Dula and Charlie. He was just a little freaked out…I overreacted…again. I should have sat up with him last night, but I forgot about him while I got drunk with Ron. I shouldn’t have left him alone. How is he supposed to know that anybody cares about him when we keeping putting him aside ‘til later? When he said that he’d kind of hoped I’d kill him, it was scary enough, but I didn’t think we could make him try to kill himself. What the hell do I do?’

Death was permanent, and Harry knew that better than most. He couldn’t escape the thought that, despite meaning well, he’d partly been responsible for letting Draco think it was alright to do this to himself. He’d only just gotten used to liking his former rival, and getting used to seeing him each day had been strange, but pleasant. Now, a world where Draco would never be there, never make a sly comment, never shyly speak up and ask a question, and never smile, seemed like a hollow, empty place that he wouldn’t want to see. It was a far cry from the blind urge to kill he’d felt when he first saw Draco, almost a fortnight ago.

Harry sat in the old chair beside the bed, and let tears stream down his cheeks unchecked. Draco would have to come first from now on. There could be no distractions, and no cruel words when he was out of sorts. No telling himself he’d see to Draco’s needs later, and no speaking or acting without thinking of how it would affect Draco first.

He had so much blood on his hands, and none of it by accident or from a person innocent of any crimes. Draco had been so right. It was still wrong to end a life. Killing Voldemort had been an evil made necessary by the Dark Lord’s unrelenting appetite for terror and destruction. There had been no justification for the things he’d done since. Some of the people he’d killed hadn’t done that much more than Draco had, and had only continued to flee in fear for their lives. Others were irredeemably evil, like LeStrange and his crew, but they deserved to be caught and contained, never allowed to wreak further harm. Butchering them like cattle made Harry almost worse than Voldemort, because Voldemort had never claimed to be other than what he was…a Dark Lord, steeped in evil and bloodlust. What then was Harry’s excuse?

Harry wept until he fell asleep. Tomorrow…things would be different.


TBC!!!