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 40: Something About Harry


‘Blood. Always blood. Blood on his hands. Blood on his arms. The metallic stink of it in his nose. Wading in a river of the stuff, up to his hips, struggling through the gore, trying to reach some safe haven that was always too far away. There was no strength left in him, and no will left to fight, and the tide of sluggish crimson pulled him under, dragging him away. A single, fumbling hand reaching out at the last, finally descending beneath the vermilion flow. Always blood.’

Harry’s eyes snapped open, and despite the cold sweat he was in, at least he hadn’t stirred in his sleep. Draco was still breathing softly and evenly by his side, clinging tightly to Harry’s left arm.

’He kissed me. We kissed. Hah! What nightmare could stand up against that, eh? My head hurts, but who cares? I’m in a bed, with Draco Malfoy, and he kissed me. Hard to believe it wasn’t just a dream, but how could anything like that have been anything but real? Actually…I think Ginny was technically a better kisser, but she had more practice than the both of us together. I know I didn’t feel like this afterwards though! I never understood why people said that if felt like time stopped…now I understand. It has to be love. That’s what makes it different. I…I love Draco.’

Harry closed his eyes and settled himself, letting his thoughts drift while he tried to get back to sleep despite the insistent throbbing pain in his skull. He’d answered Draco fairly directly, just as their kiss had parted. It was still hard to believe the words had come out of his mouth, but he couldn’t deny them now. It was exactly what he felt, and Draco had certainly heard it.

’You’re the bravest, most beautiful person I’ve ever known. I don’t care about what you can’t give…but…I know I want whatever you can. I…I think I love you, Draco.’

He’d meant to say more, but Draco had silenced him with another kiss, and the second was more confident than the first, if just as tense. He wasn’t exactly sure when they’d fallen asleep, but it had been peaceful enough until now. It was much too early in the morning to actually wake up, and his headache cure was in the other room, which would require getting up and possibly waking Draco. Harry resigned himself to riding out the rest of the headache in silence. He wasn’t sure of much, but if Draco was sleeping peacefully, he wasn’t interrupting it for anything in the world.

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Charlie Weasley woke from his slumber and was immediately aware of Dula’s absence. He glanced about with bleary eyes and saw his lover standing by the frost-rimed window, wrapped in his bathrobe, staring out at the night sky.

“Dula? You alright, love?”

Dula turned and peeled off the robe, sighing and slipping back between the sheets.

“Yes. It was only a bad dream. I worry over things I cannot help. It is foolish. I did not mean to wake you.”

Charlie curled around Dula like an enormous cat, then hissed when his skin came in contact with Dula’s cold feet.

“Your feet are freezing! Budge up, we can get that sorted out soon enough.”

Dula and Charlie rubbed their feet together until the chill had soaked away, and drifted back to sleep under a pile of blankets and quilts. Dula quietly hoped that the chill of night was only a fleeting thing, a thing of nature, and not an ugly omen of days to come.

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The days that followed moved in a peaceable blur for the residents of the Burrow. Molly and Arthur exchanged knowing glances when their suspicions were proven true at the breakfast table. Harry and Draco could scarcely look at each other without blushing or smiling. It was the familiar look of young love, seen on the faces of each of their own children over the years, and fondly remembered from the days when those looks had graced their own faces. Whatever Molly’s worries may have been, neither she nor Arthur could bring themselves to feel discontented with the situation, since Harry hadn’t smiled this much in two years, and, to their way of thinking, Draco deserved any shred of happiness that came his way.

The new week found Draco opening a letter from Ollivander’s, apologizing for delays due to the materials used for making his wand. Due to the complicated nature of the materials provided, it had been necessary for Mr. Ollivander, Sr. to supervise its making, but the delays would cost nothing, since the price had already been agreed upon and paid in full. Draco didn’t understand the delay over a phoenix feather, but Harry assured him that none had been used in decades, and that his wand, and Voldemort’s, were the last two made using a phoenix feather core during this century. Draco rather liked the notion of having a wand with such prestige, but the extra wait still irked him. He’d be starting at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes in just another day, and a wand would go a long way toward making him feel safer when he was away from Harry (and not just because he‘d be working with the twins!)

Draco had managed to brief Molly on some of what had passed between himself and Dula, because he needed considerable help contacting Severus Snape without alerting Harry. Ideally, it might be possible for Molly to visit Hogwarts and let Draco make use of their owls or Floo, rather than risk Snape’s wrath, and Harry’s, by accidentally bringing the two of them together. Their animosity aside, he just had to get in contact with Snape and get more information, and if that meant being subject to Snape’s temper, then so be it. At least the groundwork was laid, and Molly had promised him that as soon as she could make another appointment with Madam Pomfrey, they would make the journey, likely by the end of the new week.

The entire household received letters from Ron, and it was all good news and entreaties to see him at the coming home game. It was only a couple of days into the new week, and the Cannons had made their way into the running for a chance at the World Cup. It would take a few more solid victories to nail it down, but if they made their way through this last few games, then come spring, they would be playing at the international level, representing the whole of England against the world’s finest teams. It was cheering enough for Draco, who was looking forward to seeing a real game again, and it was certainly a thrill to Molly and Arthur, who were puffed up with pride that a Weasley might well be playing for the World Cup in a few months.

There was, however, one matter that had dampened Draco’s enthusiasm during those few precious days of peace…his scars. They needed treatment, and Harry was insistent about finishing the job, especially since they were so very close to being done.

They started with his back, which took three sessions, since it had taken the worst of the damage, and there was scarcely a place on it that looked healthy. Even Calming Draughts weren’t enough to take the edge off the stress, and the humiliation that accompanied not being able to control his revulsion was enough to make him sick to his stomach after the second session. It was grueling, trying to hold himself still, fighting the urge to run from the room or scream from the tension, and it took a toll on both Draco and Harry even after the sessions were over.

Harry’s research hadn’t borne any fruit, and there was nothing to be done for the nightmares except ward against them by spell, and hope that they weren’t too terribly bad. Some nights were better than others, but Draco still occasionally woke from his sleep with a start, and Harry wasn’t much better off. His own nightmares were quite different from Draco’s, and were often accompanied by violent headaches, but he’d grown used to them over the past two years, and he kept his headache cure-alls in Draco’s room now.

A new week was starting, and Draco was not at all comfortable with the notion of coming home to his last sessions with Scaradicate Salve. Save for a few tense goodnight pecks, the kiss from that night hadn’t been repeated, though they were more comfortable about each other than they had been. Even daily exercise was preferable to what Draco knew was soon to come. The last of his scars were located on his inner thighs, hips, and buttocks, and it had been difficult enough being exposed there for healing purposes. The notion of Harry gently massaging salve into those places left Draco in a complete panic. Admittedly, it was a panic that faded to lusty wishes when he was alone in the shower, but in calm and rational moments, the prospect made him actively consider keeping his scars rather than sitting through something so unnerving.

That brought Draco back to the kiss. It had changed everything, and he wondered if he’d been right to do it. After talking to Dula, he’d felt relaxed, hopeful, and determined. It had seemed so right, just acting on impulse and reaching for what he wanted. Now there were consequences, and not small ones either. Harry was, for all intents and purposes, his boyfriend. The word still felt too alien to say aloud, but he whispered it to himself when he was alone, just to enjoy the weird, giddy feeling it gave him when he said it. Boyfriend. It sounded so…childish, like some pair of giggling fourth years that held hands at Madam Puddifoot’s. It was actually quite insipid…but it still made his heart flutter when he thought of it. Harry was his boyfriend, even if they hadn’t formalized it with words. Neither of them were seeing anyone else, and honestly, neither of them had any interest in seeing anyone else. Even if it had only been a bit of harmless snogging, it had effectively sealed a pact between them, more powerfully than any words could have.

This added a dimension to things that Draco hadn’t considered until now. There was something infinitely more intimate about being touched by Harry under these circumstances, and he wondered very seriously if it would have been easier to get through the healing sessions if he wasn’t pulled apart by mixed feelings during the process.

One moment, he’d be tensed and shuddering, painfully conscious of the hand that was working salve into the ruined tissues of his back. A minute later, he’d be imagining Harry pressed against him, close and warm, utterly naked, hungry-eyed and aching with desire for him. Blessedly, he was face down on the bed, and the stiffness in his groin couldn’t be seen by anyone. The worst part was letting his thoughts of Harry drift too far, and the scene in his mind would bleed away, shifting from imagined love-making with Harry, to utter brutality at the hands of MacNair, Hyde-Pratt, or his uncle. It was moments like that which spoiled his appetite, made his genitals rapidly deflate and shrink with fear, and left him crying into the sheets and begging Harry to take a break and continue later.

Eventually, his back was finished. A smooth and shining expanse of healthy, if a trifle pale, skin. As fine and wonderful as that may have been, it left only one place for Harry to heal, and the very thought of it made Draco’s head spin. Aside from torture, he’d only been touched there while feverish and barely coherent. That it was going to be Harry doing the touching actually made it worse. It made his feelings of revulsion mingle with desire, and these were feelings he very much wanted kept separate.

There was nothing to be done for it, but to try harder and harder to keep his mind on things that needed his attention, like what to say to Snape if contact was possible, or trying to remember all the tiny clauses and stipulations he would need to recall for work, or even just mulling over ways to approach Harry as gently as possible, and introduce him to the idea that he needed help, likely of a magical nature, and that Voldemort’s taint was lingering around him. Given what was possible if Harry got upset, this was a conversation that Draco would rather have after everything was over and done with, rather than having to live through seeing Harry angry at him.

It was a terrible feeling, thinking that Harry might hate him for what he was doing. Despite their newfound closeness, which was strangely nourishing, and well-liked, Draco held secrets, just as he always had in Slytherin. It was hard to believe he was a different person, or a better one, when he lied and deceived, plotted and schemed, all behind the back of the person he was supposed to love. It felt dirty, and disgusting, and even showers so hot that his skin stayed red and tingling long after couldn’t make that awful feeling go away. That, more than anything else, kept a wedge between them, and kept their ‘relationship’ idling at smiles over breakfast or during workouts.

Draco could bring himself to kiss Harry, when it was dark and quiet, and sleep was almost upon them, and no words were needed, but he couldn’t let himself go any further. Harry seemed happy, and didn’t push at all for more, accepting what Draco was able to offer, but Draco couldn’t bear to think of what would happen when Harry understood the other source of Draco’s hesitation.

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Monday morning came, and Harry woke Draco with a whisper, which was all it took to wake a light sleeper. They forewent the exercises that usually started their day, and Draco took the first shower, giving himself extra time to primp and preen before leaving. Arthur drifted along in his usual morning haze, soaked up his tea, and took his shower promptly after Draco, finding the busy halls vaguely reminiscent of the days when the children had been home.

Draco was dressed in the clothes he’d picked out the week before, and felt a faint and fluttering confidence. Harry was Flooing along with him, just until he got started with the work proper, and that was good, but Draco admitted to himself that spending a little time away from Harry might clear his mind, since something about Harry made it so hard to concentrate. Molly served her usual breakfast spread, and there was only a little noisy chatter at the table, most of it congratulations to Draco, and assertions that everyone was proud of him and wished him well on his first day. Mostly, he found the praise discomforting, since he blushed enough when he was looking at Harry during breakfast, and didn’t need other reasons for his cheeks to pink.

Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes was actually quite unimpressive from the inside. It was a large, old building, built of good bricks, and clean enough, but not fancily appointed like some offices. It was hard to believe that the wizarding world’s most dramatically successful entrepreneurs made their fortune here. Harry led him through the halls of the old building, cheerily telling Draco stories of Fred and George’s early exploits, and then he introduced him to the secretary at the desk, a pretty, polite witch named Ella. It turned out that she’d been a Hogwarts student just before the war, but her parents had shipped her off to Beauxbatons at the first sign of trouble. She had very little knowledge of the events of the war, and greeted Draco with a friendly wave and a brief bow, before ushering them into Fred and George’s main office.

It was the largest room in the building not occupied by actual merchandise, and other than the huge desk that seated two and dominated the room, only filing cabinets and office supplies took up space here. Fred and George waved hello, then put aside their quills with obvious relief, and stood up to greet them.

“Sweet Merlin,-”

“-not a minute too soon. We’re so-”

“-glad you’re here. Have we got things to do!”

And that was the end of Draco’s peaceful morning. The financial files were a shambles, and what was complete was occasionally inaccurate or unclear, and the room that had been cleared for him and supplied with a desk, ink and quills was just barely suitable for the workload in front of him. He could probably fix the newest outgoing paperwork for the Ministry and Gringott’s, but he suspected very heavily that he might have to revise even that after he had a chance to go back through the last several years records. It was a thorough mess, and Draco could tell immediately that neither Fred nor George had a head for numbers that weren’t right in front of them. Their talent was knowing exactly what people would enjoy and use, and knowing how much gold people were willing to part with in order to get what they wanted. They had great instincts, but if it hadn’t been for their wild success, the mistakes they’d made would have ruined them.

Harry wished him well a half hour after Draco got himself settled, and Fred and George took turns explaining the details behind the documents that Draco attempted to make corrections on. All was moving along in an orderly fashion, and the twins surprised him with their seriousness, until Draco finally caught them in the middle of a surprisingly subtle joke.

He’d been handed a stack of paperwork, and was terribly busy already, when Ella brought in a slip regarding new inventory, marked as urgent. Draco quickly scanned it, then turned crimson with outrage, looking up just in time to see Fred crack up laughing.

“Very funny, Weasley! Ten thousand orders for an Amazing Bouncing Ferret Kit! I suppose you two spent all morning thinking that one up! Just remember that I get my new wand this week. We’ll see about clever jokes then, won’t we?!”

Other than that, it was a day dominated by scribbling furiously, making accurate ledgers, and getting the most urgent paperwork started. It was oddly satisfying, despite the cramped hand and ink stains that couldn’t be spelled away. He was actually surprised when Fred and George turned off the lights and instructed him to get his coat and go home, on the grounds that it was four o’clock and that Harry would never forgive them if they let him work himself to death on his first day. Draco hadn’t the faintest idea where the time had gone. At least he had a solid stack of forms to be owled, proof that the day had been productive, but it had gone by so fast that he’d never even opened the small lunch that Molly had packed or him.

Draco went to use the Floo, having made his way through the halls while nibbling at what had been his lunch, and was rejected by the Floo entirely. The flames roared, but he hadn’t budged. Obviously there was a Firecall underway, blocking the Floo against current use. As embarrassing as it was, he broke down and asked George for a Side-Along Apparition to the Burrow, since his Apparition skills were still limited to line-of-sight.

George was decent enough about it, but having someone’s hand, other than Harry’s, parked on his shoulder, well…it just made Draco’s skin itch. The familiar twist of Apparition followed, and with a muted pop, he was back in the Burrow’s living room.

The Floo was indeed busy, and Harry was bellowing into it, addressing the face of Kingsley Shacklebolt, who, despite the greenish tint that Firecalls caused, was obviously furious in his own right.

“-none of your goddamned business! Stay out of what you don’t understand, Kingsley! Leave that to real wizards! I’m sure you have some papers to push back and forth in the meanwhile!”

“YOU ARROGANT LITTLE SON OF A BITCH! I’ve tried my damnedest for you! I’m sick of this shit as of now! You want a paper pushed? How about one that calls you a formal suspect?! I should-”

Draco was trembling, just looking at the lines of Harry’s back through his shirt. Harry was a taut as a harp string, ready to explode with outrage. George stared at the spectacle, stunned and surprised by Harry’s vehemence.

Suddenly, in a way only familiar to Draco, Harry’s entire posture shifted, and his voice was a calm and confident purr.

“Oh…Kingsley. Sorry we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sure you don’t mean anything like that. In fact, I think you mean quite the opposite. We’re old friends, after all.”

Draco saw the Minister’s eyes glaze slightly, and he realized immediately what Harry must be doing. Panic flooded him! This…this was wrong on a scale that far exceeded killing renegade Death Eaters. He was using advanced Legilimency on the Minister of Magic!

“HARRY! NO!”

The words were out before he could stop himself. Harry turned on them, furious again, and Kingsley, blinking and confused in the flickering green fire, sputtered an outraged comment before signing off.

“I’m too busy for this nonsense, Harry. Good night!”

Draco could feel the weird heat coming off of Harry, and he unconsciously took a couple of steps back, while George just looked at Harry with same surprised expression.

“Criminey, mate! You look like you need to relax and take a breather. Whatever it is, it isn’t that-”

Harry pointed a finger at Draco, who had moved behind George for safety, and was shivering slightly from the sudden scrutiny.

“YOU! You…I can’t…I…ought…to…”

Harry was shaking with rage, and his arms were as red as his face. He couldn’t even form words through the state of agitation he was in. He clamped down suddenly, pulling his arm to his side, and turning his back on them while he walked slowly to the door.

“I…am going…for a run.”

Harry stalked out the door, closing it behind him with quiet deliberation, leaving Draco and George in the living room alone. Draco collapsed onto a chair, breathing heavily, trying to fight the urge to throw up or run away. His head was spinning from the adrenal rush that always accompanied seeing Harry so angry, and his own hands were shaking so much that he couldn’t have held a glass of water without spilling half of it. George looked behind him, still stymied by the entire scene, and took in Draco’s state of panic.

“Wow, well that could have been worse.”

Draco looked up, waiting for George to explain himself.

“He could have been really pissed off.”

Draco gave a weak chuckle. What a way to end his first day of work. All he could do was hope dearly that it would get better from here.

TBC!!!