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 37: Brutal Truths


Narcissa Malfoy lay still and quiet, a pale wraith upon crisp hospital sheets. She never moved, never opened her eyes, and never spoke. The damage to her body had largely been healed, but the harm done to her mind couldn’t even be guessed. The Dark Lord had been well known for his love of the Crutiatus Curse, and he had employed it extensively upon followers that disappointed him. Narcissa wore no Mark, but she had been taken captive promptly after Draco’s spectacular failure at Hogwarts, and when Draco could not be found, the Dark Lord vented his wrath upon her. Whatever had been left of her mind had retreated so far into her subconscious that no spell could bring it forth, and she remained catatonic to this day, more than two years after the ordeal itself.

Draco sat by the bed quietly, while Harry stuck near the door of the long term ward, keeping an eye out for staff that might interrupt. His mother looked very little like the woman of his childhood. There was no air of sophistication about her, and no grace or chill arrogance in play. Narcissa Malfoy was stick slender from being fed by spell and potion, and her hair was a limp and lusterless braid of blonde, kept simple and clean by the staff of St. Mungo’s. She was terribly pale, but she had not moved or been in sunlight in two years, so it was to be expected, but the changes in her appearance were hitting Draco hard.

Harry remained silent, watching while Draco picked up his mother’s limp hand, wishing desperately that Draco could be touched. He’d decided that a lifetime made up of holding onto Draco would be a good one, and it stung bitterly to leave him alone at a moment like this.

Draco cleared his throat, obviously trying to maintain his self control, and leaned close to his mother’s ear, whispering words that Harry couldn’t quite make out. This was Draco’s moment, and as much as he wanted to be a part of all things Draco, it was likely that there was nothing he could offer but his silent and unconditional support.

Draco stood up a minute later, eyes gleaming wetly, and he kept looking away from Harry, uncomfortable being seen in such a state. He’d had more than enough breakdowns in front of Harry, and he preferred to not have another anytime soon.

“Let’s go home…please. I’d just like to go home now.”

“Sure. Whatever you want. Take my hand.”

Draco took the offered hand, and looked at Harry quizzically. There were wards around St. Mungo’s, including Anti-Apparition Wards. With a muted crack, they Apparated home, standing a few feet from the door to the Burrow, and Draco looked at Harry with unabashed awe.

“Fucking Salazar’s Breath! Harry! How did you Apparate through the wards? That’s not even supposed to be possible! How…how?”

Harry shrugged.

“I can’t tell you that. I told you I can do things that the Aurors can’t, and I meant it. I’m the one who let Tonks know where Morrigan was hiding. She went there, and she almost got killed, because they can’t do the things I can. I brought you home this way because I didn’t want you to have to deal with any more paper-pushers and their obnoxious crap. You had every right to be there, and if one more of them opened their mouths, I felt like I was going to knock the building down. I thought it would be safer to just bring you home like this, but you can’t tell anyone about the way I Apparated through wards. Showing you that I can do that…I just wanted to show that I trust you. I know you wouldn’t…use that knowledge against me. There might be things I don’t tell you, but they’re for your safety…not because I don’t trust you. Do you understand?”

Draco stepped away and turned his back on Harry. He started wringing his hands furiously, unsure of what the hell to say.

‘FUCK! Fuck! I’m supposed to be happy about this! I should feel honored…if I wasn’t part of a plot to betray him if he turns Dark! How am I supposed to save him from himself, if I can’t even keep myself apart from him. How could I…be with him…like that…and then turn on him? I can’t do this! I can’t do this! Shit! Say something… or anything…think!’

“God, Harry. This…this is too much. Thanks…for trusting me. I was…I was proud of you today…for not…you know…blowing up at that bitch at the entrance. I felt the same way about what you did to Dawlish. That was just brilliant. You had a lead on that Morrigan fellow they caught, and you didn’t do it, did you? Because…it was because of me, wasn’t it? You made a promise to me, and then she got hurt…I got her hurt…”

Harry intervened quickly and passionately, letting his emotions voice themselves freely for once.

“Stop that right now! I don’t think anything like that! Not at all! It has nothing to do with you, or that promise I made. Now you know I kept it, but what happened wasn’t your fault. I wonder…do you see why I was doing what only I can? I can get through their wards, even the strongest. Aurors are getting hurt or killed, and Kingsley can shuffle paperwork and give speeches until he retires, and it won’t make that big of a difference. Do you see? I can change things…for the better…and all it costs is a few more killers who’d rot in Azkaban anyway. You saw Tonks. Tell me again that there isn’t any reason to do what I’ve done. I trust you enough to talk about it. Trust me enough to tell me what you really think.”

Draco felt panic breaths coming on. Harry was ’hot’ again, but it didn’t feel like anger…more like…intensity…or passion, and that was a direction that terrified Draco nearly as much as anger! He sat down on the front walk, staring at the ground rather than looking Harry in the eye. Harry could read minds…what if he did that to Draco? What would he do? How angry would he be? It wouldn’t just kill the friendship between them…it might very well get Draco killed!

Harry stood stock-still, upright and unyielding, radiating power and clarity. Like some bespectacled, rebel angel, holding both God and whole of the universe accountable for its wrongs, daring to accuse creation itself for its failures. Draco’s answer was choked and pathetic next to a confidence so potent that it made the very atmosphere around them dense and hazy.

“I can’t! I can’t say it’s all wrong. Maybe…maybe you’re right. But you still don’t have to kill! I don’t care about them! I don’t! They can live or die for all I care! It’s you…I care about you…what it does to you! You have nightmares…and headaches…and you get angry! You think there’s no reason for it? Don’t you think it’s all for a reason? Killing…is always…always wrong. I think, somewhere inside, I knew that even in school. That’s why I…I couldn’t do it, not even to save my fucking family! My mum’s a living fucking corpse because I couldn’t do it! Maybe some people accept that you have reasons…fuck all!…I accept that too, but it’s no good for you. It’s evil, wrong, and I think it’s hurting you…making you want to do it more. Please don’t ask me to tell you it’s alright. Because…because I can’t do that either. I only care about you. Whatever else you think, just believe that one thing…please! I only care about you.”

Harry’s aura of power flickered away, and he hung his head, watching Draco ball his fists and wipe his eyes, unable to look up out of shame for crying. There was nothing he could say to answer what Draco had said. His mind was on fire with so many things it was just impossible to fix an answer firmly to his tongue.

‘He loves me. He couldn’t quite say it…but I fucking well think he loves me. He only cares about me. He isn’t protecting them, he doesn’t give a fuck about the rest of the Death Eaters…he thinks he’s protecting me. Everything they did to him, after all that horrid shite, he only thinks about what it’s doing to me…killing the kind of bastards that hurt him. How is it that he wasn’t a Gryffindor? I’ve…I’ve never heard another person say anything that decent…that fucking pure. This whole world’s shite, and half the people in it are right bastards, so how does someone turn out like he did? How can anyone here be that good? No wonder. It’s no wonder I want him. I could love him. I mean really love him. I could do it, and anything it took to do it right. All I have to do is stop…stop killing. Control myself. I can’t hurt him. It’d fucking kill me to hurt him. I can do this…if I love him as much as I think I do.’

Harry knelt in the grass in front of Draco, and took a couple breaths before he found the words he was looking for.

“Draco. It’s okay. I’ll…I’ll keep my word. I’ll try not to hurt anyone. There are other ways to deal with things…maybe I can give those a try for awhile, eh? I made a promise to you…and to Molly, and I won’t break them. I can do this…for you. I swear it. Let’s…let’s go on in and get a bit and a cup of tea. I’ll be fine, so don’t worry about me, alright? We’ll be fine.”

The words felt inadequate, even pathetic coming from his lips, knowing what Draco had meant by his statements. It would be cruel, to tempt Draco with love, then watch the boy hate himself for not being able to show it. That was all that held Harry’s tongue. Love. He’d never been in love. Now that he could imagine it as possible, and believe that it was within reach, his mouth hungered to voice that beautiful word. Love. Caring about someone else more than one’s self. Love. Connecting to another person in a way that transcended mere flesh. Harry had loved many people, but he had never been ‘in’ love, seeking a connection between adults, intimate and close on every level.

His parents had loved him, enough to even die protecting him. His mother’s love had given him a protection that had stymied Voldemort for seventeen years. His godfather had shown Harry what it meant to be loved and supported without condition. Sirius had loved Harry just for existing, and hadn’t been ashamed to show or say so, getting himself killed to keep Harry alive. Even Dumbledore. He’d loved that old man so very fiercely. His mentor, his guide and defender. Albus had tried everything he knew to keep Harry alive, and yet let him risk his life to prepare for battle to come, straddling the line between protector and instructor. The hunt for the Horcruxes had nearly killed him, but it had been the only way to secure Harry’s understanding of how to win the war against Voldemort. Hermione had known she would be a target from the start of the war proper. It was obvious that she and Harry had been good friends, just as the Weasleys were. She’d known, and hadn’t cared, willing to stick by Harry even in mortal peril. And Ginny, in her own way, tangled by emotions neither of them could completely control, fumbling and uncertain. She had loved Harry, perhaps as a brother, more so than a boyfriend, and what they’d had together had been short and faintly bittersweet, the hallmark of teenage confusion. She’d been a good friend, in every way that she knew how to be, even after it had been clear that nothing could last between them.

Love. Everyone who had ever loved Harry, selflessly, genuinely, had died. They were all victims of a war that Harry caused just by being born. Love had killed everything he cared about, and nearly everyone who’d gotten close to his heart. All that was left to him was around him now. This house, these people…and now, Draco. Draco, who had been the one person he’d hated more than any other. He’d never imagined that feelings like these were possible, or that they could hurt so much to have, until Draco had come here to stay. How terrifying, to open his heart to someone new, all for love, knowing what love had cost so many times before. And still…he couldn’t ignore it. He could stall for time, hunt for the right words, the right deeds, the right time, but he knew it was already too late. He loved Draco, and someday soon, he would have to say it, making it real, and making it more dangerous than any mere thought or notion. The matter was already closed.

They made their way in, and Draco apologized for his outburst, taking a few books and asking for some time alone in his room. Harry relented and took his tea, reading quietly downstairs. It was a tense and quite afternoon at the Weasley Burrow, laden with the aftermath of serious words, and even Molly felt curious about the change of atmosphere. She let it pass, since neither boy seemed angry or even upset, but just restless and edgy. Ideally, she hoped they were working out their differences, with both of them gaining from it, but until one of them would enlighten her, she’d just have to wait and hope that all was well.

Draco sat on his bed, trying to read a book that purported to hold power over dreams, but fell consistently short of what they were looking for. It was impossible to concentrate on research with Harry on his mind. The things he’d said, the way he’d said them. Draco slammed the book shut and threw it onto the chair, then curled onto his side.

The pillow beside him. It held the scent of Harry, soap and clean sweat and something faintly spice-like. It smelled so good. He wanted to inhale it, soaking in it forever, imagining himself surrounded in that scent. Waking next to it day after day, year after year, until the day he never woke again. His body reacted furiously, demanding attention, and he had to shift a little, trying to stay comfortable while his engorged flesh was confined by his slacks and underwear. Thoughts of Harry still flitted through his mind, in open defiance of the inconvenient erection tenting his pants at the moment.

‘It never should have been any of them. It should have been him. He should have touched me first. He would have made it wonderful. He’d have done it because he loved me, because he wanted me to love every minute of it. I know he wouldn’t have hurt me. It should have been him. Touching me, inside of me, making me come like that. Gods, I wish I could stand being touched! It isn’t fair! I want him so much it hurts! If I could…I’d let him.’

His errant dick was throbbing almost painfully, and Draco finally acknowledged its call, removing his belt, opening his shirt up and sliding his slacks down to his knees. The sheets were nearby, ready to cover him if anyone knocked, and he was still fighting the urge to cry while he touched himself, frantically trying to distract himself and make these difficult thoughts depart, losing himself in the everyday magic of orgasm.

How wonderful it would be, to feel Harry pressed hard against him, kissing him with a mouth that hungered as much as Draco’s hungered for Harry’s own. Touching him softly, gently, handling him like something precious and good, never marring his flesh with bruises or welts. Draco half-consciously slipped his left hand between his legs, letting his fingertips brush their way down the cleft between his arse cheeks, ultimately rubbing gently along the surface of a place he hadn’t dared to touch until now. Harry. He’d have been so good, gentle and patient. He’d have tried so hard to please Draco, make it something to remember forever. He should have been first. He would have loved it…it wouldn’t have been a joke to him…it would have been an honor…and he’d have treated it like one. Harry. Inside of him, moving his living and pulsing flesh inside of Draco’s own body, touching places that held the potential for incredible pleasure…and indescribable agony…and wanting only to please his lover. Harry lost in a haze of orgasm, spilling his seed between Draco’s thighs, the final and ultimate proof of a lover’s satiation, filling him, marking him, claiming him as Harry’s own.

Draco’s manipulations finally reached their climax, and he bit his lip trying to keep silent, while droplets of white spattered across his stomach and chest. It had been the most violent and lengthy orgasm he’d ever brought himself, and only one horrible night with his uncle had ever held greater physical pleasure, and that had been through a drug-induced haze. Draco sat in the aftermath, red-faced and panting, stunned by his own capacity for enjoying the act. It had taken the edge off of his bad mood.

Slytherin’s Breath! If I’d bloody known thinking of Harry would make it that good, I’d have wanked off to thoughts of him since second year!

After the fact, Draco flushed with slight embarrassment, suddenly conscious of the nature and details of his fantasies, now that he was able to concentrate on anything other than the moment.

He hadn’t thought once of being aggressive, only of letting himself go and submitting himself to Harry. Was that really what he wanted? Would he have wanted that before…before this past year had…changed him? Was it even right to want that? It was fairly extreme to think of. Now, rationally, the notion of allowing himself to be…used…that way was frightening. Even sickening. He’d been through it so much. Likely more than anyone his age had any right to have. The physical act was no mystery to him, but the idea of letting it happen…on purpose…of openly desiring it…that was the strange part.

‘I…I’ve got to…talk to someone about this, but…Dula! I need to talk to him anyway, but he’d…he’d say something that made some sense. He wouldn’t tell anybody, or treat me any different if I asked about things like that. I’d better ask him before I even think about mentioning Harry and Horcruxes, though, ‘cause I’d like my answers before he hits the roof! I’ve got to Firecall them, and get a chance to see him as soon as possible.’

Draco looked at his come-splattered torso and sticky hand, then groaned with irritation and flopped his head back onto the pillow.

‘But first…first I have to learn to have a way to clean this up without leaving a trace before I go and just do it. Damn it!'

TBC!!!