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 3: A Fate Worse Than Death, or…‘You Want Me To WHAT?’


Molly led Harry out into the hall and closed the door to the room in which Draco lay. She leveled her most serious gaze upon Harry, and impressively, for a short and frowzy housewife of some fifty-plus years, she had Harry Potter waiting quietly for her to speak. A determined Molly Weasley was a force not to be trifled with at any time!

“I spelled him for diagnosis, Harry. Aside from what was done to him today…on OUR front walk, that boy shows every sign of having been starved and tortured, possibly for months. I may not be able to treat more than a few of his most minor maladies, and if at all possible, I mean to see if St. Mungo’s can take him after I’ve gotten him a bit better.”

Harry broke in. “He said St. Mungo’s threw him out. Apparently they won’t take Death Eaters in…probably because the wards are full of their victims…it’s like asking for trouble to happen. His classmates and a few of the places around the wizarding communities shrugged him off, too. That’s why he came here. Nowhere else left to beg, I guess.”

Harry left unspoken Draco’s assertion that ‘fear of Harry Potter’s wrath’ was a part in people’s refusal to offer him help. Molly’s brow creased as she scowled and thought of another possibility.

“Tell Arthur to Firecall Poppy Pomfrey, and see if she can at least visit and consult. If she can’t come, I’ll write a list of what I’ll need to do this myself and owl it to her, but I’d prefer she have a firsthand look. I only have remedies for some of the surface level injuries, and for the sickness in his lungs. At the least, I’ll need some Scaradicate Salve and some new Sleeping Draughts, as well as a few spells I’m sure she can look up for me once I’ve spoken to her.”

Harry nodded compliance, despite obvious discomfort about Draco being in the house at all, and turned to deliver her message to her husband. Molly spoke again, and Harry turned back and listened intently.

“Harry. I’m deadly serious when I say that young Malfoy has been a victim of someone…before you! The injuries he’s sustained…all I can say is that your fit of temper outside was nothing compared to what he’s been through. He isn’t here to pay for his crimes, he’s here to recover, and I expect you to conduct yourself accordingly. You’ll not harm him under this roof, and I expect you to help me get him back into decent shape, do you hear me?”

Harry grimaced, then nodded agreement again, cursing a blue streak inside. Malfoy had been in the house less than ten minutes, and his otherwise peaceful home life had already fallen apart. The little shit could actually ruin Harry’s day while unconscious! Nonetheless, Harry headed downstairs to pass Molly’s words to Arthur.

Molly Weasley entered into the room where Draco waited, and rummaged through the satchel of Healer’s supplies. She pinpointed several potions that would be useful, a few herbs that she could use later in other potions, and a few odds and ends that might yet make themselves handy. Then she raised her wand and went to work.

It took quite a bit longer than she expected to work just the spells she knew, and several had to be cast again, since Draco’s condition was serious enough to resist lower order spells. At least she was able to kill the infections, but it would take a fair amount of time before the rest of the healing took place naturally. She’d reduced the swelling on his briefly dislocated shoulder, reset the ribs that had cracked…this time properly and well, and closed some of the more serious half-healed wounds that had been draining strength from the boy. No doubt the pneumonia had set in from being half dead to start with, and yet wandering about in clothes that were scarcely fit to warm a body in spring.

The social diseases had been stalled, but she hadn’t a cure for them and would need Poppy’s help with that. What Draco needed most right now was a proper meal, a decent hot bath, and a few good night’s rest. Given the advanced state of Draco’s starvation, Molly thought it best to start with something simple, some bread and a bit of heavy broth perhaps. These were things Molly knew well enough, and could see to quickly.

Her work was done for now, and she felt more than a bit tired. There had been a time when her energy had been boundless, but time does what it does, and those days were past. She’d need Harry’s help if they were to get Draco bathed and properly bundled off to bed while she fixed something to eat for the lad. She knew Harry wouldn’t like it, but at the moment, what Harry liked was the least of her concerns.

Harry had delivered the message to Arthur promptly, and while Mr. Weasley conversed with Poppy Pomfrey, Harry drifted to the kitchen and wolfed down the rest of his meal. He needed to think…quietly…just for a few minutes before he faced the situation upstairs again.

’So someone gave the bastard what for before I got to him. Big fucking deal! He’s still here…still alive…and still a pain in my ass! I can’t believe I have to help take care of the prat. God knows I love Molly, but she’s too sweet for her own good. I just know there has to be more to this than Draco needing a place for a few nights. Something’s off about this…and he wasn’t saying what. There’s more to it…I can just feel it! Fuck. Now I can’t leave here until he’s gone…I can’t leave her alone with him in this house at night. As soon as he gets hold of a wand, there’s no telling what he might be capable of. Maybe I can pull some strings and see if St. Mungo’s will bend the rules and let him in anyway. Anything to get him the hell out of here!’

Harry gulped the last of his tea to wash down his supper, and headed back upstairs. Molly was resting in the chair beside the bed, sorting a few herbs on the desktop.

He’d made up his mind to play it cool for now. He’d never had a mother, not the way other people had, and Mum Weasley was as close to one as he’d ever known. He’d done a good job, keeping danger, and his life outside of here, from creeping into the home of the people he loved, but now a potential time bomb was ticking in the bed next to Molly, and it scared him more than he dared to admit.

If he found a solid reason to believe that Draco’s presence put Molly or Arthur in any danger, he knew he’d have to kill Draco outright or at least remove him from the premises by force. It would be better to leave the Weasleys angry with him and have to move away, than to see two more beloved friends killed because of him…again. If that meant watching Draco like a hawk, and doing Molly’s bidding when it came to helping heal Draco, while he dug for information, then so be it.

“Everything alright? Need me to do anything?” Harry asked innocently, if a little stiffly.

Molly sighed relief. “Yes. I’m going to draw a hot bath for him. He’s been Merlin knows where and some of his injuries won’t heal properly until he’s thoroughly clean. Once the bath’s drawn, I’m going downstairs to make some broth for him, mixed with a few herbs that will help feed him up a bit and get him back on his feet. I want you to peel off those filthy clothes of his, then bring him to the bathroom and settle him in the tub. He needs a good scrubbing down with soap and all, and be gentle where he’s still healing.”

Harry lost his mask of innocence a heartbeat later. “WHAT? You want me to…to…”

“Bathe him. Properly…and carefully, too! No just dipping him in and dabbing a cloth at him. I want him clean and warmed up before he’s back in this bed.”

Harry’s incredulity reached new heights. “You can’t be serious. Why me? Can’t it wait until he comes to and can do it himself? I mean, bloody-”

“HARRY! I’m not in the habit of explaining myself! I need to talk to Arthur and find out when Poppy can discuss this with me. I have a bath to draw, a meal to start for when he does wake, and clothes to sort out for him. He’s been dosed with a Sleeping Draught and I have too much to do already! Will you PLEASE do what I ask of you without all this carrying on?”

The expression on Molly’s face was one of pinched frustration, and Harry felt suddenly ashamed. Only Molly ever made him blush these days, and she’d done it again. He didn’t mean to get her so worked up…but really, bathing Draco Malfoy like he was a bloody infant? He’d have to…have to touch…eeeww! Harry had stalked Death Eaters to their lairs, hunted Horcruxes through magical traps and faced slavering monsters…but touching a naked Draco Malfoy…now THAT was scary!!!

Harry sighed expansively and gave in. “I’m sorry. I just…I’ve never…well…”

Molly opened her eyes wide with realization. “Oh! Well…Harry…people are just people, no matter who they are. I forgot you’ve never done any Healing before. After raising my children, some things are just old hat to me. It’s one of those things you just ignore while you get on with what has to be done. You’ll be fine. I’m off to draw the bath, so just be a dear and do what you must, then bring him in a few minutes from now, alright?”

“Aye. Will do, Mum.”

Molly toddled off and Harry heard the sound of the water running, filling the bath slowly, while he stared at the pathetic figure sprawled across Percy’s old bed. Harry inched forward nervously, stomach turning at what he knew he had to do.

’Come on, Potter! You faced a basilisk when you were bloody twelve. You won the Tri-Wizard Tournament. You gutted the Dark Lord like a Christmas goose without breaking a sweat. No reason to be afraid of this, is there?’

Harry started with the laces to the worn out tennies on Draco’s feet. That was easy enough to take care of, but the ratty socks, covered in holes, that came next were just filthy. Harry held his breath while he peeled off the disgusting things. The stink was worse than Ron's! Then he carefully removed the too thin jumper and the shirt beneath it. It took a bit of fumbling with Draco’s limp arms, but he finally got them free and dropped them into the pile of discarded clothes.

It turned out that Draco stunk everywhere. Once the shirt was off, Harry’s nostrils were assaulted by both the initial funk of Draco’s unwashed feet, and the peppery, acrid stink of old sweat. Despite his contempt for the person in front of him, Harry stared in surprise at Draco’s too skinny chest and matchstick arms.

Scars and still-healing wounds, both large and small, practically dominated the landscape of Draco’s body. The slender chest was hairless, save for small blond tufts of fur beneath the arms, and what should have been an expanse of pale, healthy flesh, was now a battlefield’s worth of magical and non-magical damage. Harry had seen the work of Death Eaters before, and this showed all the signs of being their handiwork.

There were burns from hot irons, old whip weals, and signs of cutting implements having been used at least a month ago. None had been properly healed by magic, but Harry knew enough of Death Eater habits to know that Draco likely wouldn’t have lived if some spells hadn’t been used to occasionally heal him.

Molly hadn’t been kidding about Draco being tortured. This was the work of a person, or several persons, with a knowledge of how to inflict survivable agony. It occurred to Harry that, just maybe, it was possible that Draco really did want sanctuary for honest reasons. The black and angry parts of Harry’s psyche warred with the impulse to sympathize. Draco had played with fire…if he’d gotten burned, it was his own fault. He was lucky that Harry hadn’t found him first. Harry had never tortured people for days or weeks or months, but when he wanted someone dead, they died, and he made sure they hurt before they left.

Also visible were two things that caught Harry’s attention immediately. One was the faint lines of an old curse scar that ran along Draco’s chest. Harry had put that there sixth year, with a spell from Snape’s old Potions textbook. Sectumsempra. One word and he’d nearly killed Malfoy on the spot. How often had he wondered whether finishing the job that day might have saved lives? Would Dumbledore still be there for him, his guide and teacher, his trusted friend? Albus was just a painting now. A memory locked in a frame, sitting in a school that was only just reopening this year. It could have been different…if he’d just killed Draco then.

The other thing Harry saw was the shadowy remnant of the Dark Mark on Draco’s slim arm. Branded into wan flesh was the Skull and Serpent herald of the Death Eaters. Once upon a time, this skinny, wretched boy had given himself over willingly, accepting a mark that bound him to Voldemort as a servant. The people who wore this mark were murderers, torturers, rapists and violent bigots. Across the wizarding world, this was a mark that made people draw away in fear of their lives. Innocent people, decent people with families and children and normal lives to live. So many had suffered at the hands of people who wore that mark, but Harry had turned the tide. Today, the wizarding world lived peacefully enough, but for those who wore this brand upon their arm. They fled in fear, as they ought to, fleeing the justice that was due them for their crimes, hiding like the cowards and bullies they had always been.

“Harry! The bath is ready. I’m off to the kitchen, then I’ll be sorting out some decent clothes for him. Bring him in when you’re ready.”

Molly’s voice broke Harry from his bitter reverie. It looked like the worst was last. He still had to get Draco’s trousers off, and the notion made his stomach roll in disgust. Harry had lived in a dormitory for almost six years at Hogwarts, but he’d never been comfortable with nudity. A life time being berated as a freak by the Dursleys hadn’t really prepared for him for intimacy of any kind, and the notion of taking off an unconscious person’s clothes just rankled!

Harry winced and half-looked away while he unbuttoned and unzipped the fly of Draco’s threadbare jeans, then he grabbed the cuffs at the bottom and pulled them away. As it turned out, Draco wasn’t wearing any underwear, and the job was finished just like that. Harry surveyed the rest of the damage.

Draco Malfoy was twitching in his potion-induced sleep, and his face was twisted into a grimace of fear. Garbled words brushed past his lips, but Harry couldn’t make anything out except ‘No’ and ‘Please’.

Malfoy was starkers, and Harry couldn’t turn his gaze away. Slat-ribbed, hollow-eyed, and battered almost beyond recognition, Harry’s childhood enemy lay nude and vulnerable in front of him. Nestled in a puff of dark blond, beneath hipbones that, made obvious by long hunger, jutted sharply outward, Draco’s manhood was wrinkled in upon itself. The cold had made his genitals pull inward toward his body, and the effect left the impression of near-genderlessness.

Harry had imagined some grotesque situation involving a somewhat more visible evidence of manhood, and it caught him off his guard to realize that Draco was half-frozen, terrified even in his sleep, and badly maimed to boot. A tiny thread of guilt crept into his mind, nagging that his attack earlier had been unwarranted and cruel, and Harry pushed that thought away quickly. A hasty Mobilicorpus, and Harry was towing Draco along to the bath.

‘Draco Malfoy shows up. Draco Malfoy moves in. I’m going to bathe Draco Malfoy. Can this day get any worse? Maybe I should just give in and disembowel myself with a rusty nail before the universe takes that last question as a challenge.’

TBC!!!