The Slytherin Redemption: Now Complete

Thanks to wudelfin for your review.

Penance

Chapter 3

It was Wednesday afternoon, and Harry sat in the meeting, impatiently jiggling his foot. He had a ton of other things to be doing right now, and wished he could be doing them. The weight of Malfoy's document still dragged at his mind. He wanted to finish reading it so that he and Ginny could have a proper talk about it. He hadn't time to read anymore the previous evening, because James had been cranky with an earache, and had gotten into his mother's cosmetics again. He had painted one wall of their bedroom with bright, red Everlasting Beauty lipstick. Everlasting was right too. It had taken a Fire-call to the company to be able to charm the goop off the wall.

Harry noticed everyone in the meeting looking at him. Auror Fenway asked, her patience only veneer thin at the best of time. “Potter? I asked you if you have your report ready on the Fletcher matter?”

The situation felt like Potions all over. He fumbled through his stack of papers for the right report. His hand lingered on Malfoy's packet. “Erm... yeah, I have it here.”

He handed it forward. “I think you'll find that Mundungus Fletcher has been rather inactive in these last years. He's getting old.”

Shite. Could he be any more eloquent? Fenway gave him a dubious frown. “That's good. I'll just read your report.”

Fenway's attention turned to the next order of business. The youngish Auror to his right looked at Malfoy's packet, which Harry had dutifully labeled with the Slytherin's name in a moment of Hermione-esque anal retentiveness. She whispered, “Are you investigating Malfoy? I heard he was dead.”

“No.” Harry shuffled the envelope to the back of his stack of paperwork. “I just ran into him, and he asked me to read something for him.”

“Don't tell me, another Death-Eater-Confesses-His-Crimes-Manuscript.” She rolled her eyes expressively. “You'd think they were rock stars rather than murderers, the way they're treated.”

Harry pointedly ignored her comment. Malfoy's portrait of himself was not to be viewed by others. His letter was addressed privately to his son, and Harry felt reluctant to discuss it with anyone outside the situation. The young woman continued making snide remarks, until Harry said in exasperation, “It's not like that. Can you just leave off?”

Auror Fenway paused in her presentation. “It's not like what Potter? International Wizarding Laws are not meant to be guidelines....Now where was I?”

Harry escaped the meeting with little dignity intact. Malfoy could still cause problems even when he wasn't present.

&*&*&

We made our way to the Underground from the Royal London Hospital and into one of my worst nightmares.

I had studiously avoided the use of the Underground during peak hours due to the claustrophobia that had plagued me since I had been called before The Dark Lord on the night of Dumbledore's murder. (I suppose I should say assisted suicide, since Snape only did as the old man asked.) On that night, my family was present and Snape was behind me. (No doubt in a mocking representation of a wedding ceremony. The Dark Lord did like his little jokes.) I had been given to Nagini for her pleasure. No, she was not a constrictor or any other type of snake I have ever seen before. I suspect that Hagrid wasn't the only one to breed magical creatures illegally.

Nagini was, I suppose, instructed not to kill me just make me regret my failure. She did. She began by coiling around my legs, her writhing flesh at once hot and cold. She slid between my legs and gave a crushing blow to my groin. I gasped with the pain of it and she took advantage of my momentary inhalation to constrict my diaphragm and then move further up. Black stars bloomed in my vision, and I was unable to fight for even a single breath. When Voldemort hissed his instructions again, she let me go. The Dark Lord levitated me above the gathered Death Eaters and administered the Cruciatus Curse, just to make certain I knew I had failed him. I never forgot. I still dream of that moment, the exhilaration, fear, and pain vying for ascendancy in equal measure.

My Avenging Angel stood a little ahead of me and to my right. She had taken hold of my sleeve so that I might not escape from her. Until I saw the crowded car, I had no intention of doing so. When the car came to a halt I noted how few people got off, and I tore myself from her tenuous grasp. I ran in scrabbling panic, knocking into workmen and shop-girls, tearing through the crowd. My weakened lungs wailed in airless pain. I had no control over myself and I was ashamed. I came to a door and burst into the moderately clean room. It was a ladies', but I didn't care as long as I didn't have to see all those doomed people in their sardine-tin existence. I fel hunched against the cold wall, letting the sweat trickle to the base of my spine, heedless of the screams of outraged femmes around me. I covered my head as I had done when Aunt Bella struck me the night I met my Avenging Angel for the first time.

I heard a commotion outside and was unable to move from my near foetal position. I was a gibbering gargoyle, a mad house-elf. I was a Death Eater. Two male voices shouted at me, and I coiled further into myself. Carrow and Uncle Rodophus had returned from the dead. I struck out at the hands that attempted to restrain me. I could feel their crawling grave filth, smell their putrescence. Then came the soft voice of my Angel. Her hands were clean and well manicured, her voice, though with a slight alien accent, soft. She said a few words to the spectres and they disappeared to my great relief. She held me in her arms, rocking me, saying nonsense words to me, and Merlin help me, I clung to her.

After days, hours or minutes, I began to calm. She centered me with her voice and her soft touch. I said inadequately, “Thank you.”

“Mr. Malfoy.” She drew her long fingers through my now shoulder length hair. “We need to get out of here. Can you stand now?”

She told the two men, policemen, I realized, that I was suffering from Pea tea esdy, and I would do no further harm. The older one grunted, “If you're sure, Miss. We don't want to see you come to any 'arm.”

I heard her smile. “Draco, you won't harm me will you?”

Oh, I wanted to slap the smirk I knew was lingering on her face at that moment. 'Treat a Malfoy as an imbecile and watch what happens, Muggle.' said Lucius' voice. I tamped down the feeling with what little will I had left. Through achingly gritted teeth I growled, “No.”

“Then let's get up from here and leave.” She stood, and proffered her hand to me. I didn't slap it away but the desire was there. Lucius' ugly legacy still lived in me. I struggled to stand and did so as ungracefully as a newborn foal due to the weakened state of my limbs. I looked into her face and knew, from the slightly snarky smile that she had goaded me into my reaction. I loved her more than I hated her at that moment.

The two officers escorted us out of the loo. She said, “So, I guess the Underground is out. Do you feel like a hike?”

I was still the Draco-boy at the moment and snipped, “I suppose so, since my funds are tied up in various investments at the moment, and you are woefully lacking in anything worth hawking.” My eyes swept her from delicate stem to daunting stern.

“I've handled worse than you, Mr. Malfoy.” She held out her hand to me. “Take it. I don't want you to get lost.”

We walked what seemed like twenty miles to a jumbled looking shop that was in the neighborhood she said I was to stay. I looked about, dubiously. The area had a feeling of decay and grit. It was less than working class, and with the tags that punctuated the buildings, I suspected a good place to score. I rubbed my hands together nervously. She entered the shop expecting me to follow, and I did.

An old West African woman sat behind a counter dotted with cheap rhinestone jewelry and fly specks. She shouted, “Miss Tish! I'm so glad to see you. I see you brought another project.”

Or, I think that's what she said, her accent was very thick and glottal. I stood just inside the door, unable to move. I remembered the feel of Madam Malkin's deft fingers as she fitted me for tailored robes made of silk and the finest lamb's wool. In this synthetic wasteland I was at a complete loss. How would I choose one horrible option over another equally hideous second?

My Angel gave me a sharp look. “Come on, I have to get you checked in by noon. We don't have all day to choose.”

I followed her dutifully into the nightmare of colours and unwashed clothing smells. She began sorting through the racks, which, to my surprise, were in order by size. She found several passable options, black jeans and trousers, a few white cotton shirts, and several black jumpers. Very Snape-ish. I leaned in to ask her, “Why are you choosing all black and white?”

She jerked slightly at my proximity. “I thought that's what you all wore, those people you were with before.”

“No, just one of us. The one that you said hurt you.” She flushed. I grabbed her upper arm, digging my fingers into the fleshy bit. “You knew him.”

“Can we talk about it later? I really do need to get you checked into the facility.” She tried to twist away, but I held her. No denial. We stood, staring at each other, until I noticed the tears glistening in her eyes. I let go of her with a shove. The woman behind the counter clicked her tongue.

“Watch out there, boy; Miss Tish is only trying to help you.” I gave the old woman a two-fingered salute and left the clatter of brass bells ringing in my wake.

I walked to the crossroad and paused. I knew no one in this area. I had never been to the East End in my life. I wavered. I heard My Angel approach her shoes clattering on the pavement unbecomingly. Mother always said a lady never makes a sound when she walks; she glides. Well, you can see where that got her.

“Mr. Malfoy, stop,” she called. I acted as if I were waiting for her, when actually my feet were rooted most definitely to the macadam. “He told me not to tell anyone. He said he would be in danger if I did. He set me and other girls up in safe houses. That's all there was to it. He saved my life that night, and yours too, I think.”

I turned to her, my tone savage, “Say his name.”

“I...He didn't...I never knew it.” I could tell she didn't know it. No, I'm not a master Legilimens, she just couldn't lie.

The words tore from my throat, my mentor, my friend, my protector, “His name was Severus Snape.”

She told me to wait there for her, and she went back to the shop to retrieve the items she had purchased. I felt like shit for making her almost cry. I was a Malfoy through and through. I walked with my hands in my ragged robes, they felt like two birds caught in a snare. I so wanted to smooth the skin I had defiled on her arm, but I felt my touch would only serve to soil her more.

We walked in silence for a while, her clattering gait punctuated my smooth one. I said, wincing at the sullenness I could hear in my voice, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“Like I said before, you're not the worst case I've handled.” She shrugged. “You get used to the mood swings after so many years.”

“You mean you've been abused before?” I was outraged, until I realized, yes, she had. “Fuck.”

&*&*&

Harry rolled his head, attempting to ease the kink out of his neck. His lunch hour was over and he really didn't want to get back to the office. The rumour mill was already churning about the Malfoy Manuscript as it was being called. One idiot had even inquired about Harry's scar. Damn Rita Skeeter and her spurious articles. Of all the details she had to include about his long fight against Voldemort, she had to mention the painful scar. He packed the papers back in the envelope and left the lunch room.

Penance

Chapter 4

Harry sat in his study, after work that night, supporting his head in his hands. Ginny had wisely gotten James to bed before she approached him. She slid her hand through his spiky hair lovingly. “Harry, what's wrong?”

“I'm a bad person.” His hands dropped to his lap, his fists clenched and unclenched. It had been his habit since the war. “As I read this letter and I can't help but feel he deserved what he went through, even though I know it was horrible.”

Ginny perched on the arm of the chair and drew him to her. “Harry, the war wasn't that long ago. I think a lot of people who actually fought would feel the same.”

“But I'm an Auror. I'm pledged to uphold the law. He served his time in Azkaban, and yet, I'm still happy because life hasn't treated him well.”

Ginny kissed his forehead. “I think maybe he's gone through all this for a reason.”

She left him to his thoughts, closing the study door as she departed.

&*&*&

I settled in to my life at the shelter. It was run by a priest, and nominally funded by the Catholic church. Many of its occupants, such as myself, had spent time in prison and were cut adrift from families and friends. I should have felt right at home but as this wasn't really my world, I didn't. The inmates had to attend Mass daily, and we were given tasks to complete to earn points for privileges and money. I found out early on that Father Ian Cavanaugh was the half-brother of My Angel. He was shockingly bald, with a complexion that said he had been redheaded at one time, and he appeared some ten years older than her. I saw them together outside the weekly mass that she attended at the church attached to the shelter. I could tell that despite their half-sibling status, they were close. I envied his ease with her.

I passed my second week with the maintenance drug and realized that I was still physically addicted to the Muggle poison. I had almost overwhelming urges to go out and find some heroin, but I resisted for no stronger reason that I didn't want to disappoint My Angel. There were no Disapparition points around the church, and I was not allowed to leave the property, so I decided to use some of my Death Eater tactics to make a trip to St. Mungo's. I planned it carefully. I prepared the necessary items to make a doppelganger, I secured a private room by faking loud nightmares, and I watched for my opportunity. It came one night when Father Cavanaugh was called away from the church and another trusted inmate was left on duty.

My magic was still low, so I made the doppelganger with the minimum of personality, and instructed it to only feign sleep or answer simply to questions. My Disapparition would require more energy and so I decided to complete it in two jumps. The first one took me to the Underground station near The Royal London Hospital, the next was to the Apparation point outside St. Mungo's It was nearing midnight, so I made my way to the Emergency entrance and sat with the inhabitants until my name was called some two hours later.

My Healer was none other than Parvati Patil. When she saw me, she looked as if she were seeing a ghost, a particularly noxious one like the Bloody Baron. She composed herself in the blink of an eye, and asked in a professionally distant tone, “Mr. Malfoy, how may I help you today?”

I explained my situation, leaving out the fact that I was staying in Muggle London, but I guess she perceived that, given that heroin was a Muggle problem. Addiction to it is rare in the wizarding world. At length she said, “I can help you with the physical addiction. We've recently treated several cases of such poisoning and found a combination of potions which are quite effective in its reversal...”

“However?” I asked. I had no time to waste. I had to return to the shelter before I was missed.

She blinked at my perception. I suppose I wasn't known for my sensibility when I was younger. “However, if you use the drug again, we cannot re-administer the treatment. It is effective only once. After the initial use, the potions become unstable in the patient's body.”

I nodded. “May I start the treatment now?”

She tapped her quill against the chart she carried. “I have to also caution you that though the potions may cure the physical manifestations, the cause of your addiction will remain unchanged. You will have to guard against the mental factors that brought you to use the poison in the first place. Are you able to do that?”

I thought of My Angel and nodded. I couldn't speak, for fear of showing the longing I felt when I thought of her. Patil said, “Very well. I will administer three potions then you may leave.”

Patil left and came back with three rather large flasks. “Drink each one in the order I give them to you. Do not vomit them back up and do not sleep for the next eighteen hours. If you feel dizziness, loss of vision or see black spots on your palms, return immediately. Do you understand?”

I nodded somewhat shaken. “Just give them to me.”

She handed me the first and I downed it in one long pull. I could now understand why she said not to vomit. It tasted of goat urine and smelled like death. I mastered my reaction and reached for the next. It was even worse. Snape would have been happy to administer this potion to a recalcitrant student. I heaved but swallowed the gorge that rose. Patil checked my eyes. “Very good. The next one is a magic restorative. I do caution you against using too much magic for the next three days. The side effects can be quite daunting. You may Disapparate to your home, but no more.”

She handed me the third, a golden, oily liquid. I sniffed it. It smelled of honey and lilacs. I tilted it to my lips and felt the restorative properties immediately. “Not so bad, Patil.”

Then I was hit with the worst cramps I have ever had in my life, worse than a well administered Crucio. I doubled over pain leeching my strength. Patil patted my shoulder remotely. “The cramps will pass soon. When they do a mediwitch will release you.”

I began wishing for the days of the Cruciatus Curse. Aunt Bella would have been so pleased to give this potion to someone if it didn't have the nasty side-effect of restoring magic. I rolled around on the gurney attempting to escape the agony I was in but no position relieved it. I thought I would go mad before it would end, but finally I noted a lessening of the symptoms. I stood and walked to the curtains that separated me from the rest of the ward, still shaking, but able to move. A mediwitch saw me and hastened over. “You're ready to leave?”

She checked my pulse and looked at my palms for tell-tale signs of black spots. “Very well. You are released.”

She turned her back on me and I hobbled out of the hospital. I knew I couldn't Disapparate more than once since my energy was so low from fighting the pain. I made my way to the Underground and jumped the turnstile. I didn't have money with me. Once on the car, I rested against the window, my breath coming in short gasps. Several very drunken men passed me, and looking at my pallor, no doubt concluded that I might be contagious. They left me alone thankfully and when I reached my stop I was able to stand with little difficulty. I reached the Apparation point and Disapparated to my room in the shelter. Father Cavanaugh was waiting for me.

He registered no shock at my sudden appearance, and I was stunned. He was a Muggle. I could sense no magic emanating from him yet he hadn't been surprised by my Apparation. He patted the chair next to the bed. “Have a seat, Mr. Malfoy. I think we need to talk.”

I approached him warily. “I suppose we do, sir.”

He drew out a pack of cigarettes. “You don't mind do you? I gave up drinking about ten years ago, and I just needed something to do with my hands.”

I bloody well did mind the nasty things but felt I was on no position to say so. I stood and opened the small window that seemed to be standard in institutional settings. I waited as he completed his ritual of lighting the stick then drawing the noxious smoke into his lungs. I'd be damned if I was going to break the silence first. He cocked his head at me eyebrow raised. “I've been aware of what you are since my sister left you here. You have no identification, no way to trace you. And the school that you provided as your alma mater has been on the Church's radar for the last millennium.”

I tensed, ready to bolt. I knew how to make flames tickle and not consume my flesh but I knew my magic wasn't up to the task tonight. The priest continued flicking ashes into his calloused palm. “Don't worry, Mr. Malfoy, we don't burn witches anymore. We've learned to co-exist with your kind for at least the last four hundred years. Your secret is safe. No, my question is, where you were tonight?” He fixed me with a gelid glare. “I assume, from your condition, that you were unable to get the drugs you sought?”

The truth was hard for me to say. I had been too weak to suffer as a Muggle would. I thought the Priest would feel that I cheated. I said, “No sir. I didn't try to get the Mug- ...poison. I went to one of our hospitals to be treated.”

He shook his head with a hint of sadness. “I wish you would have confided in me, Mr. Malfoy. We've had several of your type in here since your civil war, and they've all tried that method and failed. I hope you fare better. My sister seems quite ta... Anyway, if you need to talk, my office is open. You do seem to be different from the others, however. There may be some hope.” He stood, his shoulders slumped. “Since you won't be able to sleep, I'd like you to work in the kitchens today. It is your punishment for leaving the grounds. Good day, Mr. Malfoy.”

I stood looking at the sleeping doppelganger. I would have to dispel it, but didn't want to. It was peaceful. It had no worries. It had never been a Death Eater. I heard a knock on my door and opened it slightly. Father Cavanaugh smiled. “One other thing, Mr. Malfoy. Get rid of that abomination in your bed. It gave me quite a start.”

I released the magic that held the creature together and was immediately struck by cramps. Fortunately, they weren't as bad as the ones I experienced in hospital. Once they passed, I made my way to the kitchen for my duties.

Your mother came to see me that week. She sat in the small study of her brother's and took tea with me. I enjoyed the normalcy of the routine of tea. I remember hearing her laugh for the first time at some droll statement of Father Cavnaugh's. I remember watching her adjust the mass of hair that she kept tied at the nape of her neck, longing to feel the softness for myself. God, in the afternoon sunlight she was lovely. I wanted to draw the same throaty laugh out of her again, but instead I sat transfixed and tongue-tied as a first-year in her presence. She talked with her brother when he passed through to his office, and I watched her full lips caress the words. I was in a painful state of arousal when she handed me my teacup and poured my tea with her steady, slender hands. She finally said, in frustration no doubt, “Are you just going to stare at me all day or are you going to tell me how you're doing?”

I spilled the hot tea on my leg and yelped. I heard Father Cavanaugh chuckle from the other room. She blotted at my leg, hissing when I jerked away from her. “I'm sorry. I...”

I stood to escape her touch. She sat back on her heels. “I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. Do you think we could start over?”

I looked at my pants. I wasn't worried about them. They were black and the tea wouldn't stain them. “No need.”

She said, after a few moments, “I really don't hate you, you know. I just said that before because I was angry.”

“Oh.” I laughed at myself. “I thought you were speaking of the wasted tea.”

She raised her face to me. Tears glistened in her lashes but an inchoate humour gleamed in her eyes. “Were you always this dense? I mean how did you make it through a war without getting killed?”

I guffawed at that. No, it wasn't funny but it was damn close to the truth. If it hadn't been for Harry Potter I would have died. I stuck out my hand. “Draco Malfoy, dunderhead extraordinaire.”

She smiled, a breath-taking sight. “Leticia Cavanaugh, dunce and busy-body. Nice to meet you.”

We began talking, and the deal was sealed as good as a handshake over horses; I had to make her mine.

&*&*&

Harry had fallen asleep with the letter in his hand. He woke with a crick in his neck and a bad taste in his mouth. He stretched. This Malfoy matter was becoming too much for him snf he didn't want to finish the letter. It wasn't going to affect the outcome of their decision, but there was something compelling about the narrative. He couldn't seem to put it down. He would read just a little more and then go join Ginny.



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