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 31: Getting To The Heart Of The Matter


That next day, Harry had been sent on a supply run to Diagon Alley, while Draco and Molly left for a discreet journey to Madam Pomfrey’s offices at Hogwarts. Harry had been informed of Molly’s intention to take Draco along for a proper check-up, but they had left the subject of Dumbledore’s portrait entirely unmentioned.

Draco was more tense and skittish than he’d imagined, and what had seemed brilliant a few days ago looked terrifying now that it was approaching. Dumbledore had always frightened him, looking at him with eyes that seemed to cut through all pretense and bored into his heart and soul, weighing and judging, and no doubt finding him lacking. If he’d just listened, or confessed, or asked for just a little help, so many things would never have come to pass.

Dumbledore could have made things right. He could have saved Draco’s mother, hid them both from Voldemort, and let them ride out the storm of the war in safety. Draco never would have repaired that cabinet, no one would have been hurt, he’d still have a wand, an estate and a future in wizarding society, and most of all, he never would have found himself in the clutches of LeStrange, MacNair, and Hyde-Pratt. How different things would have been, if he’d just listened to one old man, instead of conspiring to kill him, however reluctantly. Portrait or not, Dumbledore was a bitter reminder of every wrong decision that Draco had ever made, and ultimately paid for so dearly. It wasn’t a meeting he looked forward to, assuming he could even manage to arrange one.

Molly and Draco entered the fireplace, and with an enormous rush of green flame, they emerged, coughing and blinking, in Madam Pomfrey’s waiting room. Madam Pomfrey had no one waiting save for Draco and Molly, and she quickly ushered Molly off to an examination room. Draco sat nervously, fearing that, alone, if someone walked in, he might be accosted before Molly or Poppy could explain his presence in the castle. Fortunately, with Hogwarts still in the process of re-opening, there were no other visitors to deal with, and Draco sighed relief when it was his turn to enter the examination room.

Madam Pomfrey still seemed as stiff and formal as she had always been, and there was no malice or lingering ill will in her tone as she coolly instructed Draco to answer her questions, while she cast a rather lengthy series of diagnostic spells. After jotting down notes and casting a few rather complicated sounding spells, she sat down and turned to Draco, while he fidgeted, waiting for her conclusions.

“Congratulations, Draco. Your recovery is almost complete, and I daresay the credit is largely Molly’s. There are, of course, a few things yet left to deal with, like the remaining scarring, and I’d like to take a moment to discuss them.

First, you are still underweight by at least some fifteen pounds, and I hesitate to call you ’well’ until you’ve put those last few pounds on.

Second, prolonged malnutrition and forced inactivity has caused a certain amount of muscle atrophy. I strongly recommend a regimen of exercise, especially for your arms and legs, to build new muscle where the old was lost. There is nothing magical I can do for you regarding this, so do try to follow my advice on this…or it may be a long time before you have the strength and vigor a young man of your age and size should possess.

Last, there are several scars that were caused by Dark curses, and I am afraid that we have no cure for those. Repeated treatment may diminish their size, but they will always be at least partly visible.

If you apply yourself, you may very well be in peak condition before the new year arrives. I certainly hope you appreciate the efforts that Molly Weasley has undertaken on your behalf. Many would not have done as she has.”

Draco listened intently, promising himself he’d start exercising regularly, and winced a little at Madam Pomfrey’s chill reminder of his low standing in the eyes of the wizarding world. He looked her as directly in the eyes as he could , and answered with perfect sincerity.

“I do…appreciate it, I mean. All of it. I wouldn’t be alive if she hadn’t let me stay, and I know it. Please don’t think that I don’t. I made a lot of mistakes, but I won’t ever dishonor her kindness.”

Poppy Pomfrey’s face softened, and she broke the tension by nodding approvingly and putting away her notes.

“Very well. Good luck to you, Draco. I hope we won’t be seeing you for treatment anytime soon. Do take care of yourself.”

There was a faint warmth in her tone that Draco had never heard before, and it surprised him, given that Madam Pomfrey had always viewed him with slight distaste, having long ago witnessed his childish inclinations to malinger, find fault, leech sympathy, and cast blame. It occurred to Draco on the way out that, despite what he had thought only days ago, despairing of hope after nearly killing himself, Harry had been right. People were sensing that he had changed, and they were treating him accordingly, once they’d had time to see that it was a real change, and not another in a long string of plots or schemes.

Molly was waiting alongside Minerva McGonagall, now the Headmistress of Hogwarts, even though its halls were still empty of children. Next year, come summer’s end, Hogwarts would open again, and a little of the damage that Draco had done would be laid to rest once and for all. The headmistress looked down her nose at Draco, clearly uncomfortable, and spoke with a crisp and irritable Scottish brogue.

“Mr. Malfoy. Mrs. Weasley has spoken very passionately in your defense, or I would never even consider such a request! You betrayed a school that nurtured your talents, and that betrayal resulted in the death of our headmaster, the injury of various persons, and the closing of the school for almost three years. I am not telling you these things because I think you do not know them…I am sure that you do. I am saying them because I cannot idly allow you entrance without holding you to personal account for the crimes you were only reprimanded for, and which have damaged this school nearly irreparably.

Mrs. Weasley assures me that you have a sound purpose for your request, and further insists that you have changed in many ways, and endured more than a few trials. I certainly hope this is true. The harm you have done can never be undone, and no one has prospered from it…so let us hope that you have gained some wisdom, else all that happened here will have been for naught.

Before I admit you to the office in privacy, I will require but one thing. You will discuss the reason or reasons you wish to see Albus Dumbledore’s portrait, with me, and you will answer my questions to my satisfaction. Is this clear?”

Draco’s lips were tight, and his face was an impassive mask. The scorn burned, like it always did, and he had known he would feel this, confronted with what he did in his last days here. He nodded his assent, then took a deep breath and began to plead his case.

“Professor…I wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t more important than the way I feel about being here. I’m sorry about more than I can even say, and there’s nothing I can do to make it right, but I need help. We need help…for Harry. You’ve read the papers, and Molly trusts you to keep this confidential. The rumors about Harry are true. Whatever happened to him during the war scarred him, and there are times when he…he doesn’t seem…right. I don’t think it’s just stress, or bad memories. I think it’s more…maybe even from exposure to the Dark magic he had to fight to defeat Voldemort. I can’t prove it, but I think Dumbledore might have been the only person Harry trusted enough to share all of the details. He might be able to help us help Harry.

I know you remember us not liking each other in school, but we get on fairly well now. Molly had her suspicions about Harry needing help, and I managed to piece together a few things on my own, but we need more information…badly. Molly saved my life, and I’ll do anything…anything to make it up to her.

There is one other reason for coming here. I want to talk to Dumbledore personally. I know he’s just a portrait, with the memories he had at the time the spells were cast to prepare it, but I have things I need to say to him. You probably know he tried to help me…but you don’t know how much I wish I’d accepted it.

That portrait is the only part of him that will ever get to know how much I wish I’d let him help me. I don’t have much of a life left, and I’m kind of starting over from scratch, and all I really want is to make it a better one. I want to tell him I’m sorry…in person, and I want to help Harry get well. I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll take Veritaserum if you want. Anything. Just please let me see him, and then let him decide if he wants to talk to me. Please?”

Minerva wasn’t quite sure what to make of Draco’s outpouring. It certainly seemed more sincere than anything that had crossed young Malfoy’s lips years ago. Draco had been a notorious liar, a cheat, a bully, and a coward during his school days, and Minerva’s memories were at war with the image of the person in front of her. The image won. This Draco bore almost no resemblance to his younger self. He was too slender by half, and he had no shred of vanity left, wearing old clothes and sporting less than perfectly cared for hair. His speech lacked any trace of haughtiness, and there was a thread of desperate eagerness to prove himself, and a frantic need to accomplish a goal that might involve subjecting himself to scrutiny and scorn. No…this boy was not the Draco Malfoy of years ago. Minerva had no further questions, and in the face of Draco’s humility, she felt a weird tinge of shame for her earlier harshness, however warranted it may have been.

“As you wish. Follow me to the office, Draco.”

It was his first time walking through these halls since he was sixteen. The more than two years since had been bitterly hard, and there was a part of Draco that looked at the school and almost wept with the desire to return. It would have been nice to know what the day would hold, or to have a regimen of classes, and nothing more to worry over than grades or social status. Now he had no real status speak of, as well as no wand, and no way to get one. The only thing Draco was reasonably sure he had, was a house full of people that had, for whatever reason, taken a liking to him, and were willing to help. If seeing Dumbledore would help Harry and bring peace to Molly’s home, then so be it.

Dumbledore’s office was the same as he remembered it, and that suggested that, for reasons unknown to Draco, the Headmistress had not yet made any changes to it. The portraits that Draco remembered had all been shuffled by one position, and in an ornate frame facing the enormous desk, Albus Dumbledore was resting quietly in the large chair he’d enjoyed at his desk during life. A small bowl of candies was on the desktop in the portrait, and it might well have been a perfect image of him during life. He appeared relaxed and not ravaged by time, not at all the tired-looking, frail man that offered Draco a way to freedom then. Dumbledore’s image came to immediate alertness as Draco entered the room, looking intently at Draco, then Minerva, politely waiting to be spoken to before addressing either.

McGonagall cleared her throat politely, then spoke to the portrait.

“It would seem that you have a visitor, sir. Draco Malfoy was quite adamant about seeing you, and I believe he wishes to speak with you privately. I shall leave it to you to decide if he can be trusted in here without my supervision.”

Albus Dumbledore looked down at Draco again, and smiled warmly.

“Alas, I’m afraid I cannot shake your hand, Mr. Malfoy, though it is a pleasure to see that you are still well. Could you enlighten me as to the nature of your visit?”

Draco had his back to McGonagall, and risked everything by silently mouthing the word ‘Horcrux’ just before answering.

“I have two reasons for coming. The first is to see you and apologize for…for…a lot of things. The second is Harry. He hasn’t been right since the war, and I think you know more about what he was doing then than anyone else. I need help if he’s going to get better. Harry deserves to be happy…and I assumed that you would want that.”

The image of Dumbledore looked utterly nonplussed, but lifted its head and addressed McGonagall a second later.

“Ah. Headmistress? I believe young Mr. Malfoy has matters of sufficient import, and nothing but good intent. I should think we will be just fine if left alone for awhile. Thank you, Minerva. Do take a seat, Mr. Malfoy.”

McGonagall nodded assent to the portrait on the wall, and with a last look at Draco, stepped out of the room and into the hall. The Dumbledore image turned its full attention to Draco.

“I’m so terribly sorry, Draco. I failed you, and at the time when my intervention was most needed. Harry tried to ensure the safety of everyone, as well as stop you from bringing the war into Hogwarts, and had I listened, or acted sooner, there was much that could have been done. Alas, old men sometimes forget the details…in the search to understand the ‘big picture’. It appears that however exceptional I may have been in my arts, I was subject to that fatal flaw as well. You have my most sincere apologies.”

Draco sat in the chair, mouth agape. Of all the things he’d expected to hear today, that was not one of them. Albus Dumbledore was apologizing…to him!

“But…but I…I got you killed. You didn’t…you couldn’t…”

“Draco…I did and could. Do you think I did not know that you bore the Mark? I knew before the summer was over. Severus warned me of every detail he possessed, Harry passed along others, and I had means of gaining knowledge and insight that you could not have known of. It was my intention to offer you safe harbor, but I did not expect you to achieve success before I returned to Hogwarts that night. I know now that had I acted sooner, more lives than my own would have been protected.

Severus would have been a hero, and not my killer, Harry would not have been forced to see my death, Bill Weasley would never have been maimed…and you…you, Draco, would never have been forced out into a world at war with only Severus to guard you.

I assure you, Draco, that if you came seeking to pay debts, you have none, save what is owed you. Instead, I implore you to look in your own heart, and grant me your forgiveness. Perhaps you erred, and certainly you did wrong, but how much greater is the wrong of a man who could have prevented it, knowing what was to come, and did nothing. I wronged you, Draco. Can you forgive a foolish old man for his mistakes?”

Draco’s throat was too thick…his eyes were tearing up quickly, and it was more than he could cope with. Overwrought, Draco let himself cry quietly for a few minutes, while Dumbledore spoke a few quiet and comforting words from above him.

“There is a handkerchief atop the desk, if you have need of it. There is no shame in feeling, Draco. Only the unfeeling have something of which they should be ashamed. It would appear that you are a better man, if somewhat thinner, than you were a boy those years ago. When you’re ready, I should like very much to hear what passed.”

Draco fumbled for the handkerchief, and wiped his eyes and nose, thinking that it was amazing that even Dumbledore’s picture had so much power and wisdom. For a mere image to be so wise, it bespoke to him the kind of power that Dumbledore must have held while still alive.

“It’s…it’s been hard, sir. Really hard. I had no idea what was coming. I thought I did, but I didn’t…not really. Professor Snape hid me for as long as he could. Then he turned us both over to the Ministry when the war was over. Harry told him to leave the country or else, even though the Ministry tried us and released us after a few months. No one would take me in. I…I wound up with a pack of other Death Eaters…I thought they’d take care of me.”

Draco gave sick little laugh, blurry-eyed and weirdly relieved to say this aloud.

“They took care of me, alright. They fed me slop and scraps, tortured me while they were bored, and raped me when they weren’t. They showed me what it really meant to wear Voldemort’s Mark. I was never a real Death Eater. I thought it was a pureblood’s dream, an order that would make wizards powerful again. Now I know that everyone who wore that Mark, wore it because it gave them the chance to hurt and kill, and if there had been no one else to abuse but other purebloods, they would have still found ways to hurt people. That’s all that mattered to them. Voldemort just gave them a wider range of victims by declaring it a war. I was an idiot, and believe me, I paid enough for it.

They dumped me off because they were afraid Harry was going to catch up with them. He’s been hunting Death Eaters since the war ended. He’s captured a few, but mostly he just kills them. They left me in Muggle London by the side of the road. I worked my way to Diagon Alley, and took the Knight Bus to the Weasley’s. I guess I thought that Harry would kill me or save me, and at that moment, I was alright with either choice. Molly stopped him from killing me, and gave me sanctuary. That’s why I’m here. Most of the time, Harry is alright, but there are times…when he’s terrifying. He’s got so much power, and when he’s angry…”

Draco shook his head a minute and cleared his thoughts.

“Molly says that he was normal until just after the war ended, and most of the time he still acts it. He hunts and kills Death Eaters, and there aren’t that many left, but he still does it. He lost his Ministry license, and the press knows he’s behind the killings. He swore he’d stop killing as long as Molly and I needed his help…getting me well again, but I’ll be healthy soon, and I’m afraid that, if I can’t find a way to make him let go of the past, he’ll start killing again, and the Ministry will come after him. I don’t want him to get in trouble…I don’t want him to kill anymore, and I only have a few clues.”

Dumbledore interjected politely. “Such as the one you mentioned without actually speaking? Harry’s behavior is disturbing. It does not sound like the young man I knew. Harry was many things, and very dear to me, but he was never a murderer, and he should not have become one since, were things as they were supposed to be. Tell me what you know, and I shall see what we can do about Harry.”

“I got Harry to tell me a little about the war, and I had to fill in the blanks with some things I overheard by accident. I’m just guessing about parts of it, but…here’s what I know so far. Harry was on some kind of mission, with Ron, and Hermione before she was killed. They were searching for artifacts that Voldemort enchanted to protect him, and they didn’t tell anyone else because Dark magic was involved, and their own friends might have tried to stop them if they knew.

Sometime after Hermione Granger was killed, the final assault on Riddle manor was launched, and they found the last artifact there, and destroyed it. Then they fought off Voldemort’s Inner Circle, killed most of them, and Harry killed Voldemort. Ron carried him to safety afterwards, and the war was over. Harry worked with the Aurors until they tried to stop him from executing Death Eaters, and after that he took up working on his own, and he’s been killing people ever since.

I tried to talk him out of it, one night before he left the house, and I thought he was going to kill me for it…he got so angry, it felt like he was on fire and I’d just burn up from being too close to him. Most of the time…he’s wonderful. He’s patient, and polite, and helpful. I just know he’s really a good person…I can feel it, but I’ve seen him when he’s ready to kill, and it’s even more terrible because it’s so wrong…so not him. I think he was exposed to Dark magic, or had to use some that was too powerful for him, and it unbalanced his mind.

The only other clue I have is a word I don’t understand, but I know it scared the hell out of the one person I mentioned it to. He told me I shouldn’t even say it aloud. Harry and Ron got drunk one night, and while they were talking, they mentioned hunting Horcruxes during the war, and that it was necessary. That’s the only clue I have. If the Horcrux things were the artifacts Harry was destroying, could he have been cursed or made crazy by what he was dealing with?”

The image on the wall looked very grim, and Draco felt a very faint tremor of fear, even though he knew it was only canvas and paint, animated by magic, staring back at him.

“Draco, this is more serious than I could have imagined. First, I shall require an oath of secrecy from you. What I must share with you cannot be told to others. The knowledge of it places them at risk, and I will not have more lives despoiled by my foolishness. You already have enough knowledge, and the desire to do right with it, to merit being told the rest, but I must have your sworn word before I tell you more.”

“I swear to tell no one what I learn here, unless it’s the only way I can acquire aid for Harry’s sake. That’s the only stipulation I want. I don’t know if I can do this alone, and if I need help, I won’t pick anyone I don’t trust completely. You’ll just have to believe me, but I don’t want to fail Harry, no matter what the price.”

Dumbledore nodded, then stood and paced the length of his frame, looking more tense than any painting had a right to be.

“You are correct about the Horcruxes, Draco. They are artifacts of Dark magic, crafted then by Voldemort, and Harry and the others were hunting and destroying them. It was the only route by which Voldemort’s defeat could be assured. As long as a Horcrux remained, Harry could not have defeated the Dark Lord, and all would have been lost.

What you did not know, and what scarcely anyone living, save Harry and Ron, can tell you, is that Voldemort made the Horcruxes in an effort to achieve immortality, by splitting his soul into eight pieces, and storing seven pieces in the artifacts. A Horcrux is a means to store a portion of one’s soul, thereby making a return from death possible, as long as a new body can be found. To make such a thing requires enormous power, and that power can only be achieved through the death of others. This is why Horcruxes are the darkest of Dark magics. One cannot be made without death and suffering.

Voldemort crafted seven Horcruxes during his life, and hid them well, some even in plain sight, since none but himself knew their nature. I started Harry on the course of seeking out and destroying them, and we had only just returned from such a search the night I died. Harry continued the task I set for him, and Minerva informed me when Voldemort was defeated, and the war was won at last. I took heart at the knowledge, but I fear that we celebrated prematurely now.

Draco…you said that Harry killed the Dark Lord in the final battle. Did he say how he accomplished this?”

Draco felt a creeping sense of dread. His skin prickled and the downy hairs on his arms and neck were beginning to stand on end.

“Yes. He killed Voldemort with a knife to the heart. They threw spells at each other while Harry got close…then Harry stabbed him in the chest. He said there was an explosion, then he woke up with Ron carrying him out of the building. What do you think happened?”

Dumbledore’s image looked paler and more serious than Draco had ever seen the man himself look.

“Draco. My worst fear…all our worst fears have come to pass. Draco, Voldemort…Voldemort is not truly dead.”

TBC!!!