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 35: A Lesson In Creative Coping

All things considered, the day had started well enough, with Arthur hurriedly Flooing off to work, and Draco, Molly and Harry finishing breakfast and starting a little housekeeping to help Molly. A change of clothes later, Harry was hitting the books again, looking for more clues that might calm Draco’s mind, or at least help him cope with the past traumas that still plagued him now.

Draco scoured his room for clothes that fit decently, hoping that he could wear an outfit from Madam Malkin’s on the way home. If they stopped for clothes first, he could enter Ollivander’s with a shred of dignity, instead of looking like Harry’s impoverished country cousin. Not that he despised any kind of warm clothing anymore, but it was all too big for him, in spite of the weight he’d put on lately, and many of the articles of clothing he needed most simply hadn’t been saved in large quantities.

He needed good, clean socks, shoes and boots that fit properly, trousers that would stay on his hips without the use of a modified belt, and shirts that didn’t need the sleeves rolled up. Most of all, he wanted undergarments that were his own and no others. The ones he wore were certainly clean, but there was something slightly offensive about the notion of used underwear. The rather oversized boxers he had on just needed to go!

He was still giddy while he changed. The realization that before the week was out, he’d have a wand again, had dawned on him that morning, and it filled Draco with a reckless confidence that kept bubbling up every time he thought about it. The second source of his giddiness was Harry, who had made his feelings about Draco fairly clear between yesterday evening and that night, and something vaguely like hope was fluttering around in Draco’s chest. Maybe he did have problems, but Harry didn’t seem to let those intimidate him, and if he was willing to deal with a Draco that had issues with touch and rarely slept properly, well that was heartening, wasn’t it? It meant that having something like a normal relationship wasn’t entirely out of the question, and that was more than Draco would have imagined as possible a few weeks ago.

Once he’d managed to dress himself the best he could, Draco sat down and took some time to review his plans regarding Harry. He didn’t dare leave written notes about his observations, so he organized his thoughts carefully, reviewing things the way he once did when dealing with Slytherin House politics.

Harry suffered chronic nightmares, and apparently had headaches after them as well. Were these symptoms of possession, or just the after effects of surviving a war and carrying the guilt that came with having killed? Draco had never actually killed anyone, and the things he’d let happen to others through his actions still haunted him. It could be either case, so that would have to be examined later, if any new details came to light.

Harry’s temperament had changed after killing Voldemort…that much was certain. He hadn’t been given to homicidal explosions of violence, and certainly not grisly acts of mutilation, until after the war had ended. Dumbledore had been very certain that Harry’s behavior was tied to the night that he and Ron had broken into Riddle manor and killed the Dark Lord. It was likely that Dumbledore’s assessment of the situation was accurate. He’d told Draco a great deal about Horcruxes, but the exact route to crafting one was still unknown. It involved violence and suffering, in the form of a death, but was Voldemort’s own physical death a workable source for the creation of a Horcrux? And more importantly, could a living person be made into a Horcrux under circumstances like those? That knowledge could easily eliminate some of the other possibilities, and that would make his path clearer in a hurry.

He’d likely need more knowledge of Horcruxes than he had now, and this was a thing fraught with peril. How to acquire that information without terrifying the living hell out of everyone, or winding up running afoul of the Ministry? At least he could use a few of Hogwarts resources…and maybe lean on Dumbledore’s portrait for a little more information if he couldn’t find any on his own.

In Draco’s honest opinion, he had no hope of doing this alone, even with a wand. He didn’t know higher order spells, since he hadn’t finished his seventh year, and much of what he was worrying about was beyond even what Hogwarts taught. He was moving into theoretical magic, and he had no practical experience with that kind of research. He needed help, but his options were severely limited. He couldn’t reveal the secret of Horcruxes to anyone who didn’t already know of them…unless the situation was immediate and dire. That left only two people besides Harry that he could even speak to about this.

Dula had some knowledge, but the subject had sent him into a state of near panic. Maybe he could be brought around if he knew that Harry needed serious help? Then there was Ron Weasley, who had apparently turned over a new leaf, but the notion of Ron trusting Draco enough to reveal secrets from the war…behind Harry’s back…seemed far-fetched at best.

Draco’s thoughts were interrupted by the fiery sound of the Floo in operation. When Harry’s voice became raised, Draco headed down the stairs.

“Damn it, Kingsley! I don’t give a flying fuck if he’s off duty on suspension! If that jackass comes near me with a wand in his hand, I’ll make him wish he’d never been born! The press can kiss my ass too!”

Kingsley’s face was visible from the Firecall, and the normally imperturbable former Auror was very clearly upset.

“Harry! I can’t arrest a man for being an idiot! If we could do that, half the country would be under wraps! I don’t need this shit anymore than you do, but you don’t have to give people the answers that I have to. Dawlish has been ordered to leave you alone, but I can’t waste bodies by assigning someone to keep him at home. The press had a field day with this, and naturally they didn’t mention that Dawlish was suspended. They claimed he was ’off-duty’ when you assaulted him. Think just a little about the image you’ve got already. Do you actually want it to get worse?”

“No, Kingsley! I genuinely don’t bloody care what they think of me, but don’t even think of holding me responsible for what happens if that prat pulls a wand on me again! He’ll be lucky if St. Mungo’s can put him back together!”

“Harry! You-”

Harry waved his hand and the Firecall winked out of existence. He was holding a copy of The Daily Prophet in one hand, and trembling with rage. The air around him felt hot, and Draco felt the faint tremor of fear run through him. He hated seeing Harry like this. It was so hard to imagine the gentle and generous young man of last night with the flushed and furious man standing in front of the fireplace. Harry turned and notice that Draco was there at the edge of the stairs.

“What?!”

It came out as angry bark, and Draco couldn’t fight the urge to flee. Harry’s green eyes were livid with anger, and Draco ran back up the stairs and shut the door to his room with a slam. His heart was pounding in his chest, an automatic response to the mere threat of violence. Even if Harry hadn’t actually threatened him, the possibility of violence hanging in the air still made him respond with near panic, and he couldn’t help it.

He heard Harry storm off, letting the door to the Burrow slam shut, and then there was a knock on his door.

“Draco? Draco, dearie…it’s Molly. Is everything alright? I heard a ruckus downstairs…what’s wrong? Was that the Floo?”

Draco gulped a deep breath and sat down on the bed.

“Come in. It’s…it’s okay. Harry was yelling at Kingsley. I…I got scared. Something must have happened, but I’m not sure what. I don’t even know what they were talking about. He just looked so…so angry. I had to get away from it. I heard him slam the door downstairs on the way out. Will he be okay? Where’s do you think he’s going?”

Molly clucked her tongue.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m sure he didn’t mean to frighten you. If I know Harry he’s taken an impromptu run about the house. It’s how he deals with stress. Let’s have a peek out the window.”

Harry was indeed running circles around the Burrow, with the loping stride of a long distance runner. His face was red and tight with simmering anger, visible even from the upstairs of the Burrow. Draco moved away and sat down again.

“I hate seeing him that way. Angry. He looked like he could destroy the world, even if it was only for a few seconds. It felt like he was a volcano about to erupt, and all I could do was run. How am I supposed to help…like this? Scared bloody shitless because he’s pissed. What do I do?”

Draco sucked in a few more breaths, trying to dispel the rush of adrenaline that had left him shaky, and holding back the urge to cry from the hopelessness of it all.

Molly sat down in the chair in front of him, sighing.

“I don’t know, Draco. I just don’t know. You’re almost well. I know you’ve tried. I can’t hold you to an impossible task. If you can’t help him face his past, I’ll understand. You’ve more than enough on your plate, just getting yourself well and getting on with your life. If you don’t want to deal with Harry as well, I’ll understand. Don’t think for a minute I’d care for you a bit less for this either. You’re a fine young man, and you’ve been a perfect gentleman since you were able, and you should know that whether you stay or go, we’ll always have room for you here. Understood, love?”

Draco smiled a little. Molly knew just what to say. He appreciated the offer to let him off the hook for what he’d promised, but Molly didn’t know what he knew. He was in much too far to quit now, and more was riding on this than Harry’s reputation for a bad temper.

“Understood. The answer is no. I’m staying, and I won’t quit until Harry’s right in the head. I swear it. Molly…there’s something I…I haven’t told you. I think…I think I’m…”

Molly put a hand up to pause him.

“I know dear. If it’s hard to say, you needn’t say it. I’m not blind, love, just a bit older than I used to be. I’ve seen how you are around each other, and I just hope you know enough to not get yourselves hurt.”

Draco sighed with relief. His shoulders slumped as he relaxed. This wasn’t an easy subject for him, but he wanted to get it out.

“I want to say it. I…I think I’m in love with him. I don’t even know what that is…or what it means. I just…I can’t think of what else to call it. You and Arthur are so happy together, and Charlie and Dula seem so right for each other. When I think of something like that, all I think of is Harry.”

Draco gave a mocking half laugh.

“Funny, isn’t it? I can barely stand being touched, but I still want a lover. I didn’t even think I could feel like this, until it happened. I’m not even sure when. So here I am, and if I can’t help him, and myself, I’ll never be able to be with him.”

It was sweet relief to let that out, and Draco hung his head and ran his hands through his hair while Molly replied.

“I’ve nothing much to tell about love, but I know it’s taken near thirty years of my life and made them as happy as they were hard. I…I suppose I’d want that…for you…and for Harry. I haven’t the slightest how to bring it about, but it would be a fine thing to try for. As long as you’re careful with each other's hearts, it might just turn out alright. C’mon then. Let’s have a cup of tea in the kitchen, and wait for Harry to get back in. I’m sure he’ll set things right once his head’s clear.”

As they made their way to the kitchen, Draco noticed the crumpled copy of the newspaper on the floor. It was the latest edition of The Daily Prophet. Draco picked it up and carried it along with, and when he sat down and read it as Molly poured the tea, his heart skipped a beat when he read the lurid article on the cover.

The way they’d covered it, it sounded like Harry had exploded in Diagon Alley yesterday. Assaulting an off-duty Auror? Did Kingsley have people following Harry? The paper didn’t say. It just rambled on in a blatant tirade that made Harry sound like a wild animal that needed to be put down. If what Harry had said was true, the other man had drawn a wand on him first, but the press didn’t seem to mention that either. It was grossly unfair, since even if he had beaten the man, the article still said that Harry hadn’t cast any spells at him. Didn’t they know that Harry could have done a lot worse?

Draco’s attention was interrupted by the smaller article down in the corner, where he saw a name he recognized instantly. His cousin, Nymphadora Tonks, had been put in St. Mungo’s last night, after nearly being decapitated by a Slashing Hex during a late night raid in Wales. The Death Eater they’d been after had been caught, but not before he managed to nearly kill her. At least she was recovering, but it occurred to Draco that this might be something else that had angered Harry. Harry didn’t care about the press, he was probably upset because a Death Eater had nearly killed Tonksy, and he knew he could finish off people like Morrigan easier than the Ministry could.

Poor Tonks! Draco hadn’t seen his cousin socially since he’d been old enough to start at Hogwarts, and to be honest, his family had only tolerated the Tonks branch of the family because they were, technically, family. No one had approved of her decision to become an Auror, but against all odds, she’d made a brilliant one, and that had been the last Draco had seen of her. She hadn’t been assigned to his case when the Ministry interrogated Draco and Snape, but he’d heard her name mentioned now and again. Even if he hadn’t known her well, he still hoped she’d recover completely.

Harry entered quietly through back door, soaked in sweat, looking terribly embarrassed, and still faintly irritable. He saw Draco looking at the newspaper and frowned, then sat down and refused to look up from the table.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t even mad at you. I…I Firecalled Kingsley about the article, and it went downhill from there. Nymphadora Tonks almost got killed last night. I don’t have a lot of friends left alive, and she’s one of them. The man they were after…he had wards that were trickier than usual…and they tripped them. They were lucky she lived long enough to get Portkeyed back to St. Mungo’s. They aren’t suited for what they’re dealing with. Kingsley doesn’t see that there are other ways…things that could be done. He just thinks signing the right forms will fix things in a few years, but people are getting killed right now, getting maimed today, and paperwork won’t help them. I just…I blew up, and I’m sorry I sounded like that. It just came out wrong. I never meant to scare you. When you took off, I just needed to run before I did anything else stupid. Are you okay?”

Draco took it all in quietly, fidgeting with his tea, and slipping a glance to Molly, who looked satisfied, but gave Draco a look that seemed to say, ’Tell him what you think.’ Draco answered Harry stiffly.

“I’m…I’m fine…now. Apology accepted. I just wish…I wish you wouldn’t scare me like that, Harry. I know you didn’t mean anything by it, but I can’t…I can’t handle seeing you like that…or anyone else for that matter. You looked like you were almost ready to kill someone, and I was afraid you didn’t care who.”

“Draco…I promised I wouldn’t hurt you. I was just loud…and I wasn’t angry at you at all. Believe me, I wouldn’t hurt anyone in this house, please!”

“Okay. I believe you. So you know Tonks? She’s my cousin. I just read the report on her getting hurt. I kind of thought that might be what upset you.”

“Yeah. She’s the best they’ve got. If she can nearly get killed, they’re dealing with more than they can handle. I…I overreacted.”

There was something Harry wasn’t saying, and Draco immediately suspected that it was because Molly was in the room. If he could get Harry away for awhile, he might get more answers. He was still more than a little upset with Harry, but he decided to steer things in a direction that would get them away from here for awhile.

“Do you still want to go to Diagon Alley? If you don’t…I’d understand…but-”

“Oh…yeah! I still want to go. Hell, at the moment I could use some cheering up, and I think getting you that wand might be just the thing. I’ll go change and be right back.”

Harry took his leave and headed upstairs, while Draco finished his tea. Molly looked approvingly at him before speaking.

“Well done. Don’t let him forget that his temper has consequences for more people than just him. If you can make sure he behaves in town, please do. The last thing we need is more trouble.”

Draco heartily agreed with that, and when they left for Diagon Alley shortly after that, he was still winging prayers skyward, hoping Harry wouldn’t run into anyone else to draw his ire!

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Diagon Alley wasn’t terribly crowded, but Draco felt hemmed in anyway. There were too many things he remembered from this place, and more than a few people stared at Harry, and they stared even more intensely as they recognized Draco by his side. Everywhere they walked, Draco recognized corners where he’d scavenged for crusts or clothes, and he also recognized shopkeepers that had threatened him if he set foot near their establishment again. There were no happy memories in this place, and today’s bad press for Harry made things even worse.

Madam Malkin’s came into view, and Draco was never so glad to be off the street. Thank Merlin that Harry had plotted their course according to what Draco wanted first. It was still slightly humiliating to be here, in tow behind Harry, letting someone else purchase goods for him like a needy child, but at least he’d be leaving with new clothes on his back.

Several disapproving glances from staff that recognized him were quickly wiped away when Harry glowered at them. On the heels of the Auror assault, a dirty look from Harry Potter was a powerful motivator. Malkin’s clerks and tailors snapped to attention and led Draco to the fitting rooms, where they oozed forced politeness and made certain that Draco was satisfied with the results.

It was disappointing to find that he had to purchase clothes that were nearly in children’s sizes, since he’d lost so much weight through the hips, chest and shoulders that, even having gained back a little, he was still just about the size he was near his fourth year at Hogwarts. He did manage to get the clothes a half size larger than necessary, so he’d have a little room to grow into them, but that was all he could do about that for now.

At least his feet hadn’t changed, and shoes and boots that fit and didn’t either pinch or threaten to fall off were nice. Somewhat discreetly, he managed to inquire about undergarments, and he was thankful that Harry was in another room while he sorted through things that looked comfortable…and flattering. Not that he planned for Harry to see them or anything, it was just…why not look good if you could? It had been a long time since he’d been able to be vain about anything. Even if he would only see himself in the bathroom mirror from time to time, it would still be nice to see someone who looked a little more like the handsome boy he’d been in school.

Once he had the rudiments of a wardrobe, Draco relented, and decided to buy more after he was working. He really didn’t want Harry to spend more than was necessary. Harry might be willing and eager to buy more, and Draco admitted that shopping was taking the edge off of the sour mood that had claimed him after Harry’s outburst, but he still didn’t want to seem greedy.

Harry paid for the entire lot without blinking, and made a snide comment about the politeness of the help, implying that he didn’t appreciate their attitude toward Draco. Draco already had a comfortable and attractive outfit on, fitted so that he merely looked slender, but fit, rather than appearing to be a wispy waif in oversized clothes. It was refreshing, feeling confident about the way he looked, and though Harry didn’t know it, Draco had seen several of Harry’s appreciative glances from out of the corner of his eye. Harry looked like he didn’t know what to say, and Draco deliberately teased him, fishing for compliments. Although the outfit was all black and deep green, the best way to described it was ’snug’, which gave a solid description of the way it clung to his body and showed off the few assets he still had. Harry fumbled through some praise, and still red-faced, moved the topic of conversation along while they made their way to Ollivander’s.

The wand shop treated him more or less as Malkin’s had. Their acceptance was grudging, and had much to do with Harry’s presence. Draco found it privately amusing that, when Voldemort had been around, Harry been thought of as a delusional boy, and Draco an upstanding young citizen of good breeding. It showed how much they really knew…which was almost nothing.

The phoenix feather was greeted with interest though, since they didn’t often see them, and his was the first since the ones that were used to craft Harry and Voldemort’s wands. Draco took a mental note about that as well, wondering if the relationship between the wands changed the dynamic when Harry and Voldemort had met that final time.

Draco used a few test wands, and allowed the staff to take notes, while Harry demanded the best parts and final product that money could buy. In the end, the price was somewhat more than any ordinary wand would cost, but since several ingredients were quite rare, the work would take a specialist, and that justified a certain increase in price. Draco left entirely content, knowing that it would be owled to the Burrow before the week was out, and he would at last be a wizard in every sense of the word.

The smile on Draco’s face did wonders for Harry’s mood. It was a genuine pleasure to see him walk so confidently, dressed as sharp as he had been in his school days, willow-slender and cheerful, but with a more open and happy-go-lucky expression upon his face. Draco’s cheery chatter was music to Harry’s ears, and watching him walk was giving Harry some brief palpitations of the heart…not to mention making his trousers a bit tight near the groin.

Draco glanced ahead of them, slightly confused. An angry looking man with matching black eyes, the telltale sign of someone whose nose had been recently broken, stormed through the crowd with wand already in hand. Given the report in the paper about yesterday’s events…this had to be Auror Dawlish!

“Potter! Stop in the name of-”

The man stumbled spectacularly, flailing about as he hit the ground face first with a force that was only muffled by the pile of yet un-removed animal excrement that lay in the center of the street. They strolled by quietly, while the man groaned into the pile of dung, and eventually passed out, still face down in the stinking mess. Only Draco had seen Harry’s fingers twitch.

“Say…Harry?”

“Hmm? Yeah?”

“An observant person…like myself…might have noticed that, a few seconds ago, there was no pile of animal shit in middle of the street.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched.

“Really? And just what are you implying?”

“Two things. I think you should have been in Slytherin…and you’re officially the coolest person I have ever known.”

“Why thank you, Draco. The feeling is mutual. I think it’s time we headed for home. Shall we?”

“Yes. Let’s.”

And with matching grins, they walked to the edge of town, and Harry Apparated them back to their home.

TBC!!!