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 28: Confusion, Confections, Confessions, And Comprehension


Harry slept fitfully, even while his body remained still. His dreams slid into a red haze of memory, a phantasmagoria of killings past and new alike. The feel of his knife sawing through bone. The soft rip of flesh that tore more easily than he’d imagined. The weird and muted colors of internal organs that were never intended to be seen outside of the human body. He knew these intimately. He’d made them happen.

His dreams segued again, as they sometimes did, and the dead were lined up like Inferi. War victims paraded past him in an endlessly long line, each pair of eyes silently pleading for justice…for vengeance. There was no ignoring them. The dream wouldn’t end and wouldn’t change until it was ready. The dreams came when he didn’t kill, and they came more often the longer he waited.

Some rational part of him railed against this spectacle. He knew he’d sworn off killing, given up the hunt that eased his sleeping mind, but he also knew that it would get harder the longer he waited. Hermione was there, as silent as the rest, shuffling by, body slashed horribly by the curse that had taken her life. Farther off was Ginny, intact from Avadra Kedavra, but pale and listless as she stumbled on. This was eternity. This was what waited for the un-avenged, for the restless souls that would never know peace while their killers lived and prospered. Harry could make it stop. He could make it easier for them. Give them rest.

But he would have to kill.

“NO!”

Harry sat bolt upright, soaked in sweat and pulling in a sharp breath. Adrenaline was coursing through him, and his heart was pounding like he’d just run a mile. He took a deep, slow breath, and calmed himself, then realized where he was.

Draco was on the floor in the corner, wide-eyed and shivering, wrapped in blankets he'd taken with him, staring at Harry in fear.

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I know you aren’t…don’t…fuck! Harry, I’m sorry. Don’t be angry…please…please don’t be angry with me?”

Harry took another slow breath, then rolled off the bed and tried to go to Draco, who was obviously frightened. When Draco curled into a ball in response to Harry’s approach, clearly expecting to be struck, Harry stopped, face burning from sudden shame, and knelt.

“Draco. It’s alright. It was a nightmare. What happened? I didn’t mean anything. I’m not angry at you. I promised I wouldn’t hurt you…I meant it. I have nightmares sometimes too. Not…not like yours, but bad enough. I just woke up scared. Please…believe me…I won’t hurt you!”

Draco sucked in a panic breath, biting back the urge to cry, which would be more humiliating than panicking over Harry’s shout. His body slowly relaxed while his breathing slowed. Harry sounded calm, rational, and as gentle and concerned as the person who’d climbed into the bed last night, and Draco’s brain slowly accepted that he was in no danger.

“I thought you…you were mad about…me. Touching…your arm. I didn’t mean to. I was just…I slept better. It was nice. I didn’t mean to give you nightmares.”

Harry looked crestfallen, and sat down on the floor beside Draco, careful not to touch him or make any sudden moves.

“Honestly…Draco…you didn’t give me any nightmares. I just have them sometimes, alright? From the war…and…and the things I did after. I get nightmares, and I wake up a little spooked...that’s all. I swear it. It wasn’t you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Draco leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Yesterday's events were flooding through his mind, and it was almost too much to deal with at one time.

“Shite. I’m sor-”

“Stop! You have NOTHING to be sorry for. I spooked you, and it’s my fault. Don’t apologize to me, Draco. I should be telling you that…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that those happen to me sometimes. I…I’m going to take a shower and get some clean clothes. When I get done, we can check in on Molly and grab some breakfast, then work on using the Scaradicate Salve for awhile. I’d like to start the research for your dreams today, too. You’re my only priority here…understand?”

Draco nodded hesitantly.

“So, if I take a shower, and I’m gone for a few minutes…you won’t…”

“No! No…I wouldn’t. I feel…weird, but better. Last night…it was just too much. I hadn’t slept, and…and I told you what it’s been like. I’m tired…I’m still tired, but I’ll get better. I know you’ll help…if I can stop panicking whenever anyone makes a fucking loud noise or a fast move.”

Draco said the last with a sad little grin that hinted at sarcasm, or at least brutal honesty, and Harry smiled back, shrugging his shoulders as if to say, ‘What else can we do?’

Harry stood, and held out his hand, offering Draco help to get himself standing, and Draco took it, savoring the weird shiver that ran down his spine when Harry’s hand was around his own. Harry headed for his shower, and Draco picked out some clothes for after his shower, musing over the night that had passed.

Everything had seemed hopeless last night. Waking up after Molly’s collapse, and Ron’s…explosion. The look on Ron Weasley’s face had been a vicious echo of the looks he’d gotten in Diagon Alley. Loathing, mistrust, outrage, and naked hatred. It had been the look that had hurt him far more than the blows that came later. The knowledge that, no matter what he said or did, people would always see him as a Death Eater and a coward, and assume the worst about anything he tried to do. That had been more than he could bear.

Now, Harry had scared him half to death first thing in the morning, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. He hadn’t even realized that Harry had nightmares. It made sense. Harry had done…questionable things…during the war and after, and it was normal to have nightmares after things like that. Draco admitted that he, himself, was a slightly different case. His were memories more than dreams, and they were things he didn’t dare speak of while he was awake. The look on people’s faces when they heard what had happened to him was almost as terrible as the memories themselves. Knowing what had happened to him changed the way people looked at him and treated him, and Draco wanted more than anything to have something like a normal life.

So far, that particular wish had gone unanswered.

Draco laid out a clean shirt and other garments, and waited for Harry to finish in the shower. Footsteps on the staircase told him that someone was coming, and given the time, it was probably breakfast. Draco’s stomach rumbled with hunger, and he looked up just in time to see Dula enter, carrying a tray with enough food for two, as well as tea.

“Good morning, Draco. I made breakfast for everyone, since you and Harry seemed tired, and not without good cause, and because Molly should rest until the potion arrives for her. I hope that you enjoy.”

Draco took the plate that was offered to him hesitantly, uncertain about why Dula was still here, and he’d meant to ask about that, until he saw the contents of the plate.

“Crepes! My mum used to ask the house-elves for these all the time! I haven’t had crepes since I was, like, fifteen! Thank you…Dula.”

Draco put the fork to use and started wolfing down bites of crepe, mingled with tidbits of fruit, and gulps of tea. Dula sat at the edge of the bed and smiled.

“I have spoken to Arthur, and Molly will be resting today, but she is quite well, and you will see her in an hour or so. I understand Harry will be applying Scaradicate Salve today, but there was something I wanted to talk to you about first. Will that be alright?”

Draco looked up from his plate. “What? What’s wrong?”

Dula looked more than a little uncomfortable, which was strange given his usual calm confidence. He did not look Draco in the eye, but spoke with his head half turned.

“About what happened last night…”

“I…I don’t want to talk about that. I won’t do it again. I just want to forget about it.”

“You mistake my meaning. I do not wish you to tell me of last night, unless that is what you want, but rather, I have something I wish to tell you. It is very personal, and Charlie is the only person I have told before. It is not a thing I share, but you would understand better than most. I must ask your confidence. Please do not share what I tell you here.”

“I can promise that. I know why some things are private…believe me.”

Dula nodded soberly, then began.

“I attended Durmstrang, like my father, and his father before. I was the eldest child, and my parents only son. I was an heir. When I was at school, I met a young man I thought was very fair, and very handsome. We became lovers, but we were very young, and very foolish. Perhaps…I am a romantic, but I thought it would last forever, and there would be no other for me. My father found the letters my lover sent me while I was home, and his outrage was…exceptional. He informed the headmaster, and my lover’s parents removed him from school. I never saw him again. I did not dare stand against my father’s wrath, and what had happened was quickly known to all in our school. I was alone, terribly ashamed, and I saw no future that would be acceptable to me then.”

Dula rolled back the sleeve of his black shirt, exposing a slender, pale, pink-gray line that ran the length of his arm, up from the wrist almost to the elbow.

“My problems were not like yours. I make no pretension of thinking that I understand them. I do know what it means to think there is no hope for the future, and I know what it is to leave behind everything you have known for a new life. It was fortunate that I lived, for though I did not meet Charlie until four years ago, I could not have imagined then that my life could hold such happiness this day.”

Dula rolled his sleeve back down, looking Draco in the eyes, and his gaze was intense enough to be nearly hypnotic.

“Do not squander your life. All else can be taken from you, and there is hope for a better day to come, but life…of that, we each have but one. You are a bright and gifted young man. There are many here that are fond of you, and would grieve if you were lost to them. I hope you will give thought to how much is yet possible, and not despair. I can promise you nothing. To claim that all will be easy and good would be a lie, but I can promise that much is yet possible, and I can promise that you would be missed. This much is clear to me, and I have known you for but a day. If Harry, who was once your rival, can think so well of you in so short a time, how much more is possible? Think on these things. I must return home tonight, but I will be here today if you wish to speak with me. You may consider yourself a friend to both Charlie and myself, and you may Firecall us if you wish. Now I must go…I have a kitchen that Molly should not see soiled by my efforts, or she will surely try to clean, and Arthur would be most upset. That I cannot allow.”

Draco sat quietly, fork frozen in his hand, absorbing what he’d just heard. A question bloomed in Draco’s mind, and he asked it aloud before he even thought twice about it. His voice wasn’t much above a whisper, and his eyes told Dula that he sincerely wished to know.

“The scar…you could have healed it. There are salves and spells….why didn’t you?”

Dula paused, looking pensive and thoughtful before he answered.

“The scar exists inside me, as well as outside. It does not matter if it is healed, it cannot be forgotten. I did not see the point in healing it, and I am not ashamed of what I have learned from it. I am stronger and wiser for what I have seen, and what I have lost. To change what has passed, would change what is today…and I assure you, I would not change my present for a thousand more beautiful yesterdays. Does this make sense to you?”

Draco nodded. “I’ll see you after lunch, right? You’ll still be here, won’t you?”

“Yes. I will see you again then. Enjoy your breakfast, Draco.”

“Thank you, Dula.”

They both knew he wasn’t speaking of the crepes, but Harry had just emerged from the shower, and anything more private could no longer be said. In Dula, Draco saw someone who would not look at him differently for what he’d seen and done, and that…that was something even Harry could not give.

“You are most welcome, Draco.”

Harry saw Dula in the hall and smiled.

“Hey! I thought you and Charlie were headed back home…you guys staying ‘cause of last night?”

“Only I remained. My Charlie has too much to do, and many people to oversee. I left a plate for you in Draco’s room…if you wish to take your breakfast with him. Arthur remained home today as well, and I made it to the kitchen ahead of him this morning. Enjoy, Harry.”

Harry glanced at Draco’s plate. “Crepes! Yum. I’ll be right back after I change clothes. Thanks, mate. Glad you decided to stay a bit longer!”

With that exchange, Harry bolted to his room to change, and Dula gave Draco a farewell smile, and headed down the stairs to the kitchen. It would be an interesting day to say the least, and Draco appeared willing to speak to him in greater detail later. Dula congratulated himself on having made the right choice. It had worried him, sharing something so essentially private, with a young man as riddled with problems as Draco, but his instincts had not been wrong, and the groundwork for more important conversations had been laid. Dula was not immune to doubt or worry, but he had learned to hide it well. Charlie had an uncanny knack for recognizing when he was tense, even when others thought him to be at ease. It was one of Charlie’s more endearing, and sometimes irritating qualities. Ah, well. He would do what he could do, in the time that had, and that would simply have to be enough…for now.

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

Molly’s package arrived just a half hour later, and Dula fed some choice tidbits to the Hogwarts owl that had delivered it. The recipe was a simple one, and Madam Pomfrey’s notes included complete instructions and a reminder that the potion in question was also commonly sold in Diagon Alley. A further reminder insisted that Molly come to Hogwarts late in the week, and let Poppy give her a thorough and complete check up.

Dula delivered the package to Molly, who was curled up in bed with her husband. Molly promptly took the potion, and decided to spend the day knitting and chatting with the lot of them. A day off her feet really didn’t sound so awful, and she had several knitting projects underway, and was oddly grateful for the time to work on them.

Harry and Draco stopped by Molly’s room shortly after they’d both finished eating, chatting lightly about Ron along the way, and Molly seemed in better spirits, if slightly worn about the edges. Harry assured her that Ron would come to his senses soon enough, and apologize properly, and Molly reluctantly admitted that she could scarcely wait for it, and meant to welcome him back as soon as he gave her sound reasons to do so. Her estrangement from Percy had been one of the most stressful times of her life, and given the loss of Ginny, Molly was in no mood to push away another of her children, no matter how misguided. If Ron showed a willingness to respect her decisions…and apologize suitably to Draco, she’d put the entire matter to rest as quickly as possible.

Harry broke out the Scaradicate Salve and Calming Draughts, and Draco took off his shirt, but wore a slim, cotton undershirt that left his arms easy to treat, while preserving his modesty. It still rankled, allowing anyone to see the ruin that was his body, even if it was the only way to heal it..

His right arm was the subject today, and Draco was still in an oddly good mood, which still seemed strange in and of itself. He wasn’t used to feeling good, and the faint ebullience that buoyed his spirits confused him. In spite of the horror of last night, it felt like a storm had broken, and the sun had come out, and Draco hadn’t seen that metaphorical sun in a long time. Harry accomplished more than usual during their session, and the majority of Draco’s right arm was finished before they were done. With the Calming Draught, Draco had been fairly comfortable while Harry worked his way along, scar by scar, and he’d kept his mind occupied by talking to Harry all the while.

The topic had rambled and shifted, but he’d managed to squeeze a few stories from Hogwarts out of Harry, comparing notes about their experiences in school. It was bizarre to think of things from Harry’s perspective. The press had treated Harry abominably…if one knew the truth behind the stories, and Draco had never guessed at some of the truths, and in fact, he had never even tried. He’d simply assumed that Dumbledore’s prize pupil was every bit the spoiled and deluded attention seeker the press had claimed.

Harry had known that war was coming to the wizarding world long before Draco had been made aware of his father’s Dark alliances and servitude. He also heard tidbits from Harry that made almost no sense at all. He knew Harry had been raised among Muggles, but while Harry avoided details, the impression was clear that he had not been welcome among them, and had no love for the people who had cared for him until he came to Hogwarts. It just didn’t fit Draco’s image of Harry. Harry seemed generous and grateful to the Weasley’s for their hospitality, and yet he appeared to hold the Muggles that raised him in contempt. It was a complete conundrum, but he didn’t press for details that Harry didn’t want to give. As it was, he was happy to have a small window into Harry’s life, and to let words carry him away from the tension that Harry’s touch brought.

When it was over, Harry packed up the supplies and excused himself to fetch his books. He would be spending the day studying texts that he’d inherited from Dumbledore. Draco wandered downstairs and found Arthur, Dula and Molly lounging in the living room, all equally happy to see him after his treatment. He grudgingly displayed his arms, showing off Harry‘s work, and he couldn’t help a glance at Dula, who smiled and nodded meaningfully.

Dula was right. The scars were really on the inside, but for Draco, there were so many, and they were so disfiguring, that physical healing seemed more sensible. He’d looked this way for so long that it was strange to look at his arms and see healthy skin instead of infected burns and cuts, bruises, and puckered red and gray streaks from older, poorly healed wounds. The scars would always be there, but at least they wouldn’t frighten or shock others anymore.

Harry came down and settled into his studies, and Dula took interest when he learned that Harry’s research was rooted in a desire to help Draco sleep properly. Dula knew an old spell to ward off modest nightmares, but it was brief in nature, and would not last the whole night through. It did offer a small measure of hope, and allowed Draco the promise of nights that would grant him at least partial peace, and that was more than he’d had in days. The best he’d slept yet had been while Harry had been at his side, and even then he’d woke restless and edgy, made so by memories his sleeping mind could not bury.

Draco sat, reading a book of his own, poring through the lists of Charms, Jinxes, Hexes, and Wards. He looked up, and became aware of the setting around him. Every person in the room, even Molly, had taken one of the books that Harry had brought down. The entire Weasley household, Dula included, was busy researching a way to help Draco sleep better. Draco felt his throat grow thick, and his face was beginning to burn. Crying now was out of the question, since he’d been the cause of more than enough drama lately. He’d already had a shower that morning, and he needed an excuse to get out of the room. Draco stood up and put his book down, trying not blush crimson while he did so.

“Uh…hey. I haven’t been out of the house, or taken a walk down more than a hallway in a long while. I haven’t been outdoors while dressed for it properly either. I just thought I’d take a walk…get some air, and enjoy some sun for once. Is that okay?”

Everyone focused on him suddenly, which made Draco more tense than he’d been before. Molly broke the brief silence.

“We’ve some good coats and boots in the cloakroom, and mind you put a decent sweater on before you go out. There’s a miserable chill in the air this time of year, and we don’t want your lungs to suffer for it, but go on ahead, dear. You needn’t ask permission for such a thing, Draco…but if I catch you out there without decent clothes on your back you’ll have me to answer to.”

The warmth of Molly’s smile took the edge off of her words, and Draco thanked her and hurried upstairs for extra clothes. The sweaters were all too large, but they would just have to do, and the boots barely stayed on his feet, but with extra socks, they felt fairly comfortable. The coat was a travesty, since his hands barely stuck out of the sleeves, but it was warm, and with the spare scarf and cap that he’d found, he was already too warm indoors. Draco made his way outdoors with a few comments to the assembled crowd in the living room, and sighed with relief as soon as he was out the door.

‘Dula was right. How could I have not seen it? Merlin, I love them. Look at them…a day off and all of them trying to help me! They care about me so much, and they only let me in less than two weeks ago! How can anybody be that good? In my family, they’d have been researching ways to kill me without leaving a trail that led back to them. It’s like a fucking dream when I wake up, and I’m here, and it’s only a nightmare when I close my eyes and leave for awhile.’

Draco’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the back door closing. Dula had stepped out onto the back porch, and took a seat on an old chair that was lightly dusted with snow. He gave Draco a smile that clearly implied knowledge of what was going through Draco’s head, and then he spoke.

“Now you see it too, do you not?”

Draco smiled back, gulping back the urge to cry, but his eyes were shining when he answered, his words turning into icy puffs of moisture in the winter air.

“Yeah. Yes I do… and thank you for helping me notice what was right in front of me all along.”

TBC!!!