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 30: More Than A Flight Of Fancy


The days that followed treated Draco quite well. Although he was restless, and more than a little worried about his upcoming trip to Hogwarts, there was much to be cheerful about. Molly had agreed to take him along, on the condition that he saw Poppy Pomfrey for a more complete check-up, and then he could see Dumbledore’s portrait. If she had to intervene to help Draco accomplish this goal, she would, and that was a relief. He was nervous enough as it was. Seeing Dumbledore had been a superb idea, but the reality was growing more and more terrifying. Tomorrow he would be there, and the notion of speaking to the image of the man he’d betrayed would become an immediate and terrible reality. Thank Merlin so many other things had gone right.

First, the spell that Dula taught Harry worked passing well, and while it couldn’t suppress nightmares completely, Draco could usually count on at least three or four hours of uninterrupted, if somewhat restless, sleep per night. Harry had taken to sleeping in the chair beside Draco’s bed, at least until the middle of the night, when he applied a second spell that would last Draco until morning. The effect of having consistent sleep worked wonders on Draco’s attitude, and he hadn’t realized until now how much of his former malaise was tied to the lack of healthy sleep.

Second, Molly’s cooking was working its own magic, and Draco had noticed the hollows under his eyes slowly disappearing, his skin’s color was still improving, and his ribs were becoming difficult to count, all of which made seeing himself in the mirror an experience that no longer made him want to cry. To his dismay, however, his stomach had gained a certain softness. Nothing like Neville Longbottom, to be sure, but it was very off for Draco to have even the slightest hint of fat…and he swore a stack of oaths to himself that he would take up some exercise other than housework.

Harry had worked with Draco and some Scaradicate Salve every day that week, finishing up Draco’s arms and making considerable headway on Draco’s lower legs. At this point, had it not been winter, Draco could have left the house wearing a sleeveless shirt and shorts, and no one would have seen anything amiss, save that he was a bit skinnier than was generally considered healthy, and he still bore the faded remnant of Voldemort’s Mark. Scaradicate Salve could not erase that, and nothing ever would, but at least the sight of his body wouldn’t send people screaming into the streets.

Best of all, he’d managed to engage Harry in conversation daily, and while he hadn’t gotten any specifics about the war or Horcruxes (which he didn’t dare mention), he had developed a certain vague comfort around Harry. It had made the last few days pass quickly and pleasantly.

He’d beaten Harry once at wizard’s chess, after less than three days of practice, but Arthur had defeated the both of them with startling ease, reminding Draco that Ron Weasley had come by his skill at the game honestly.

Truth be told, Harry was charming when he was calm and comfortable, and he hadn’t shown any signs of being the kind of person who could cold-bloodedly execute and mutilate others. Draco had wondered if his suspicions were realistic, and if more investigation into Harry’s past was really even necessary. He didn’t want to offend Harry at some point by pushing for too many details, but Harry did have another nightmare just the night before, stubbornly reminding Draco that there was some remaining legacy from the war.

Draco had come awake somewhere near three in the morning, stirred half by his own nightmares, which were just taking shape, and by the sounds that Harry was making in his sleep. Draco hadn’t been able to make out the first part, but once he’d come awake and heard Harry’s muttering more clearly, and seen the twisted grimace on Harry’s face, he’d understood that Harry was in the grip of a nightmare not that different from Draco’s own.

He’d heard Hermione’s name several times, Ginny’s, and Sirius Black and Dumbledore, too. That was when Draco knew that Harry was seeing the dead in his dreams, and he’d sat in silence, afraid to touch Harry in his sleep, knowing almost instinctively that Harry could be dangerous if he wasn’t in conscious control of himself. He’d tried calling Harry’s name a few times, but it hadn’t done any real good. The nightmare ended only when Harry snapped awake, breathing hard and wild-eyed, and then apologized for waking Draco before casting the Nightmare Wards on both of them. That had been the end of it, but it was all the reminder that Draco needed about Harry’s state of being. Even if things weren’t as bad as Draco feared, Harry still needed help, and he meant to find a way to give it.

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


Harry rummaged through the closet, looking for some things he knew Draco would really enjoy. It had been a hard week, even if the last couple days had been fairly good, and as far as Harry was concerned, Draco deserved to have some fun, and it would be a nice change of pace from being stuck in the house all the time. Harry shoved piles of old coats and boots out of the way, and finally came across the very items he’d been looking for.

’Jackpot! One matched set of Comets. It wouldn’t be fair to ride my Firebolt and rub his nose in it, and these will keep us evenly matched! I’ll bet he hasn’t been on a broom since he left Hogwarts, and if these don’t cheer him up, nothing could.’

Not that Draco had been in a horrible mood or anything, but he had seemed preoccupied lately. He was always staring off out of windows or sitting quietly at odd times, just thinking of whatever was on his mind, and his face was always so serious, except when they were playing wizard’s chess or something of that nature. Draco’s sole victory over Harry had put a smile on his face, and Harry had found that smile a pleasure to look upon. He hoped this would provide some more.

Harry knew full well that Dula had talked to Draco during his stay, but Charlie’s enigmatic boyfriend had refused to reveal anything from those conversations, saying that he had been told things in confidence, and would never betray them. It was a bit frustrating, since Harry couldn’t help his curiosity over Draco. All he’d managed to get out of Dula was an insistent claim that he should ‘be patient and let things take their own course’…whatever that meant.

Several days of applying salve to Draco’s skin had worn on Harry’s nerves a little. It was embarrassing to admit, even to himself, but he now wanked exclusively to thoughts of Draco. His imagination still centered on the types of things it always had...touching, closeness, kissing and the like…nothing particularly hardcore, but it was always Draco, and Harry’s mind had mapped every line of Draco’s body, from top to bottom, and was becoming adept at imagining how those parts would feel pressed against Harry. It may have been a bit distracting, but on the bright side, his orgasms were noticeably more intense lately, even though his style of masturbation hadn’t changed in the slightest.

Harry stopped his musing over that subject when he realized that his cock was beginning to twitch to life in his pants, and he was fairly sure he didn’t want to hold out a broom and ask Draco if he wanted to ride…while sporting a full erection!

He took the brooms and headed upstairs. Draco was lounging in a chair in his room, poring over a book titled ‘Magically Induced Slumber And Counterspells For Same’. He looked up when Harry stepped into the room, then looked quizzically at Harry when he noticed the pair of brooms.

“These were Fred and George’s when they were in school. Haven’t seen action since they left home and started their business, and when they really want to fly, they have brand new models at their place. I just thought we could bundle up and play Seeker’s Tag for a bit. You know…get out of the house, get some fresh air, have a bit of fun. Besides, you need the exercise. It’s not healthy to be indoors all the time. Feel like a flight?”

Draco’s smile was easily worth the effort it had taken to unearth the twins’ old broom. Draco stood up silently and took one, getting a feel for its weight and balance, and then he smirked like they were in school again, eyes glinting dangerously.

“Thank you…and prepare to have your ass soundly kicked, Potter. I can’t believe you thought of this. I may be a fair hand at wizard’s chess, but even after a couple years on the ground, I can still make you eat dust on a broom! Let’s get some coats!”

Harry took the bravado in stride, and watched with discreet amusement as Draco grabbed his cold weather clothes with barely contained excitement. It was easy to tell that, no matter how carefully Draco was hiding it, he was very happy to get a chance to fly again, and Harry congratulated himself on making a good call.

They didn’t have a large pitch, or anything resembling equipment, but for Seeker’s Tag, which involved tapping each other’s brooms, you only needed two people and two brooms. Even in the November chill, it was still enormous fun. They flew until their faces were numb, back and forth, through trees that had lost their leaves weeks and weeks ago, and around the house more than a few times. Hours blurred by without their paying attention to anything more than the bundles of twigs on the end of their brooms, their arms constantly outstretched to ’tag’ the other flyer. An incoming owl, which was frightened off its flight path, finally brought their attention back to home, and they both suddenly realized that they had long since missed lunch, and were half frozen to their brooms despite heavy clothing.

They landed a few feet from the door, panting, each watching their breath turn to mist in front of them, and unbeknownst to each other, they were both quietly admiring the way they each looked with cheeks flushed and reddened by cold wind and exertion. As far as Harry was concerned, it was the healthiest Draco had looked in two weeks…and probably in almost that many years.

Draco caught his breath and quipped, “Not bad. You’re lucky that owl threw me off, or I’d have had you…again. You’re as out of practice as I was!”

“Yeah yeah. It was an even game…but I made you chase me half an hour for that last tag. Tell me that wasn’t good flying…go on…tell me with a straight face that you didn’t flinch when you saw that dive I did. I dare you.”

They walked to back to the house while Draco laughed.

“Fine. Okay, already! The dive was good. I can’t believe you did that on a Comet! You could have killed yourself trying to drag a wreck like one of these up at the last second. If you were going to fly like that, why didn’t you pull your Firebolt out of retirement?”

Harry paused a moment, just looking at Draco, wondering if he should tell the truth.

“Draco…I thought you’d figure it out. I don’t even care who wins, but it wouldn’t have been fun if it hadn’t been fair.”

Draco hadn’t the faintest idea what to say to that, and he stopped in his tracks and stared at Harry rather intensely for almost a minute before he could even speak.

“I wish I’d known you…like this…in school. It would have been fun, wouldn’t it? Just flying for fun…or talking to each other about things. I think I would have liked you a lot…if things hadn’t gone pear-shaped between us…on the train during first year. Can you believe it was just eight years ago?”

Harry sat down on the porch, suddenly feeling the serious turn of the conversation, and shrugged.

“Barely. So much happened to me, so quickly, that I barely had time to get used to one thing before another changed. You know I was intimidated as hell by you…in Malkin’s…first year. I was shite poor, had no idea how much money my parents left me, and scared half out of my mind after leaving my aunt and uncle behind. There you were, and you talked to me like a regular person while we were getting fitted, but you just shouted money and class. I didn’t know what to think. When you introduced yourself again, on the train, you insulted Hagrid and Ron in less than a minute, and they were the only other people I’d talked to. After that, you were a complete shit to me every time we crossed paths. Don’t think that I don’t wish it had been different. I do. Really. I still wonder if we’d have gotten on alright if I’d at least shaken your hand.”

Draco took a seat on the porch as well, and stared at his feet, still winded as hell.

“Maybe. But I was a right bastard when I was little. I didn’t even know how spoiled I was until the war was practically underway. It was the first time I had anything more important than my status to worry over. I guess you wouldn’t have had anything to do with me even if we’d shook hands, but I probably wouldn’t have gone out of my way to be a pain in your ass so much. You have no idea how much it stung to be snubbed by you, and thrown over for Ron Weasley. Back then, I still thought money made a difference.”

“Maybe. Maybe maybe maybe. Too many maybes. Let’s go in and get a snack. It’s still a long way to dinner, and Molly wouldn’t let us starve, especially if we look at her with sad eyes and apologize for missing lunch. C’mon, mate.”

Harry stood and headed into the house, Draco following along behind quietly, still savoring the sound of the word ‘mate‘. A letter waited on the kitchen table, addressed to Harry, and it bore the seal of Gringott’s bank. Harry was already cursing when he tore it open.

“Bloody hell! I forgot about my estate paperwork! Not that I was really fucking excited over it in the first place. It’s due in three days, and I just had so much on my mind that I put it off. My next couple days just got booked up. Don’t worry, though. I’ll still sit up with you and all. Just, don’t be surprised if I spend the next couple of days face down in a pile of paper, cursing the day I was born.”

Harry slumped at the kitchen table, peeling off his scarf and cap, and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. Draco, on the other hand, looked a little confused.

“Seriously, Harry. You don’t mean you have trouble managing the standard Gringott’s forms for your property and vaults? You can’t be serious.”

Harry looked up with irritation, but bit back the sharper comments on the tip of his tongue. He knew he was just pissed because he was facing a task he hated. No reason to take it out on Draco.

“Hey. Raised by Muggles here, remember? Plus, everything was handled by Gringott’s until I was seventeen. Then they dropped this stuff in my lap, and it’s more than you think! I inherited the Black estate, and portions of Dumbledore’s estate, and I have business investments and dividends to report. It’s not as easy as it sounds, believe me!”

“You want help?”

Draco didn’t want to make it sound too dismissive, but it was obvious that Harry was in over his head, and only his stupid Gryffindor pride had kept him doing this alone for this long. Harry replied with a snort and a startled look.

“What? You know about this stuff?”

“Hello! Formerly the heir of one of the largest magical estates in England! I was taking summer courses in etiquette, genealogy, and estate management every summer after I was thirteen. Maybe I never finished all the courses, but I can do this. Lead the way!”

Harry was muttering amazement under his breath while they went upstairs, and he pulled all his files for Draco, who promptly began to re-sort them before even starting the Gringott’s forms.

“I can’t believe you let them get this bad. Couldn’t you use a filing technique more sophisticated than ’that pile over there’? Really!”

Harry was grumbling excuses when Draco got a look at some of the figures on the papers, and he was adding them up fairly quickly.

“Fucking Merlin, Harry! Do you even know how much money you have?! Have you even looked at these.”

“Honestly? Not lately. You tell me.”

“Assuming I have all the paperwork available, and I’m not sure I do, you crossed the million Galleon mark back in August! Harry, you’re almost as rich as any of the old pureblood families ever were. My family was an exception…we always had more than almost anyone else, but for a nineteen year old who said he was ’shite poor’ when he started school, you’re one of the wealthiest wizards in England! And what the hell is this? You have a separate vault for practically everything, at Gringott‘s prime rates, when you could request consolidation and save quite a bit in fees. There‘s even a whole separate account here that I don‘t even see the purpose for.”

Harry leaned forward, then slapped his head.

“Damn! You weren’t supposed to see that, but if you keep it to yourself, I’ll tell you what that one’s for.”

Draco hesitated, mulling over the possibilities, then gave in.

“Okay. Silence guaranteed. What is it?”

“It’s Molly and Arthur’s retirement fund. Charlie, Bill, Percy, the twins, and Ron all make contributions, along with me. We’ve been doing it since Ginny died. Money was tight for them at the time, and even though things have gotten better, we made a pact to start laying aside something for them as often as we could. In about ten more years, it’ll be enough for the interest on the account to make a real difference for them, and Arthur will be able to retire while he’s still young for a wizard. If you spill this, it’ll ruin the surprise we’ve been making this, and believe me, you’d piss off the entire lot of them, so not a word about this, right?”

Draco was biting his lip. It was the most decent thing he’d ever heard of anyone doing…second to granting sanctuary to a known Death Eater. It occurred to him, and not for the first time, that it was a miracle he’d come to this place, with these people in it.

“Deal. Not a word. It’s fucking brilliant, and I wouldn’t spoil it for all the gold in Gringott’s.”

Harry nodded, and they got back to work, and instead of days being wasted while Harry fumbled through his paperwork with ham-fisted desperation, Draco carved his way through the swath of forms with the ease of someone born to it. Harry just answered questions every so often, and helped sort his jumbled piles of reports, and Draco worked a few miracles of his own, this time with nothing more than a quill and some ink.

TBC!!!