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 42: The Laws Of Attraction And Repulsion


Harry woke early as always, eyes fluttering open and consciousness coming to him quickly. Consciousness regarding his surroundings. His warm surroundings. His unusually warm, pajama-clad, soft, blond surroundings.

Draco had curled very close during the night. His left arm was flopped across Harry’s chest, and the rest of his body was pressed flush against Harry’s left side, except for Draco’s left leg, which was almost across Harry‘s lap. Draco’s head was tucked into a corner of Harry’s left arm, and soft, even breaths brushed against his ribs when Draco exhaled. All of these things suddenly became real to Harry, and all of them were good.

The erection pressing into his left thigh was somewhat more problematic. Especially since it rather closely matched his own situation, which was reaching epic proportions and tenting the sheets above him, threatening to pulse its way right through the material of his pajamas. This was not to say that he didn’t entertain ideas about situations like this…he did…but they weren’t supposed to happen this soon, and Draco was supposed to be completely healthy and able to cope with it, and there was supposed to be candles…and music…and flowers…and maybe some wine. This was a little more reality than Harry could handle at this time of morning.

He hadn’t spent a lifetime fantasizing about particulars…he’d kind of been content with more general notions. The actual physical mechanics still unsettled him. To be specific, the fact that Draco’s erect penis was throbbing against his thigh was unsettling him terribly, whether he liked the idea or not.

‘Think, Harry! How do you gracefully get out of this, without a weird scene. Draco would be mortified if he woke up like this…never mind him noticing that I’m about to blast through my pajamas. This is great! Some poof I’ll make if I can’t handle a hard-on next to me! I’ve got to make this go down…at least then he won’t freak out too much. Concentrate on horrible things. Horrible, hideous things. Argus Filch doing a glossy color spread for Wicked Witch Weekly, in a pink thong, and smiling!’

His erection quickly flagged and Harry exhaled softly with relief. Then he looked at Draco’s face, peacefully slumbering beside him.

‘He’s so beautiful. Look at him. He looks so content…so at peace. He deserves that, after all that he’s been through. It would be nice, wouldn’t it…seeing him like this every morning. I never knew his eyelashes were so fine. I don’t think I even noticed that his eyebrows were just a little darker than his hair…until now. His nose is perfect…it looks so…noble. His lips…’

The erection was back in full force.

‘Great. I’m a moron. Now I have to think about Filch all over again! Damn it!’

Eventually, Harry’s rampant prick was back under control, and he managed to whisper a few words to Draco, who woke easily enough, being nearly as light a sleeper as Harry. For a remarkably pale person, it seemed impossible for Draco to sustain such a crimson blush for so long, but he managed it anyway.

Harry acted as though nothing had been out of sorts, launching into an impromptu workout on the floor, doing his morning standard hundred sit-ups while Draco hastily stammered out his intention to use the shower, and then fled from the room with towel in hand, looking completely mortified.

Draco made his way to the shower with all due haste, thanking the heavens for the small mercy of not finding himself sticky and sated by Harry‘s warm thigh…instead of just painfully erect and nearly sprawled across Harry’s body. The shower quickly began to steam as the heat kicked in, and Draco peeled away his pajamas and slid inside, letting warmth and comfort ease away the tension that was eating away at him.

’Oh, sweet fucking Merlin! I can’t believe that just happened. It didn’t. It was a dream. I woke up and it’s over. There is no way I just woke up practically humping Harry’s leg like an alley cat in heat! Didn’t happen, didn’t happen, didn’t happen!’

Draco rested his head against the cool tiles of the wall, and took a few deep breaths while the water rolled down his back. His penis hadn’t shifted gears at all. It was still stiff and waiting, demanding relief as soon as he acknowledged its presence.

’Who am I even kidding? It happened. Harry was sweet and let me off the hook for it, but I was just that close to coming all over myself…and his leg…and we both know it. I’ve got to switch to wanking before bed. One more goodnight kiss like that one and I’ll wake up glued to him by my own spunk. I am sooo not letting that happen. That settles it. I’m only wanking in the shower before bed…from now on.’

Draco’s cock twitched almost involuntarily, pulsing with need.

’Right after this.’

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


Harry chatted idly with the twins for a little while before leaving Draco to his work, but given that Gryffindors were hopeless at subtlety, Draco was well aware that they were discussing something they didn’t want shared. Naturally, this made it necessary to hear whatever they were talking about, even if it meant distracting Ella by dubious means. The comforting thing about the entire matter was that, no matter how silly it sounded, it reminded Draco a lot of Slytherin House politics…something he’d excelled at in school. It was refreshingly familiar, except for having easy access to Extendable Ears, since he was now employed by their makers. That made it all the easier.

The conversation was only on for a minute or two before Draco pulled in the Ears and walked away, shaken by what he’d just learned.

Harry, Fred and George had been speaking of Death Eaters, naming possible locations, and exchanging theories on the recent Muggle killing that had taken place, and Draco had heard enough to realize that Harry got help from the twins…regularly. The context of the conversation was such that he knew Harry had no intention of giving up hunting…he’d only put it off for awhile. It was a handy thing to know, but now he felt guilty for even having heard it. Who would have guessed that the two charming jokers with Harry now would also be deliberate accomplices to cold-blooded murder?

It made sense that Harry got help from someone with money and connections for information, but Draco hadn’t even imagined the twins being involved. Suddenly, he realized that he would have to be more cautious than ever while working here. It was possible that more information might come his way, but also a greater risk of being caught. This also ruled out the possibility of receiving correspondence from Dula or Snape while he was here. He needed a more secure route to receive information, and right now, Molly was all he had. Any Firecalls or owls with dangerous content would have to be sent elsewhere…perhaps Hogwarts when Molly went again…or maybe at Charlie and Dula’s place.

These things occupied Draco’s mind until the newly familiar ocean of paperwork washed it away for awhile. Harry said farewell quickly, and Draco settled into a long day’s work clearing files and correcting old paperwork. It would be weeks before he would be able to call this office organized, and even longer before he could call it accurate. Still, it was work, and there was pay, and whatever else might go wrong, tomorrow evening he’d be watching the Cannons from the VIP guest seating, and it would take a very bad day to take the edge off of his excitement over that!

The day passed quickly and easily, but Draco forgot to eat again, and wound up nibbling his food on the way to the Floo. Fred and George had been fairly subdued all day, not having pranked or pestered Draco even once. It had been all business, all day, and as much as Draco had expected to like that, he found it oddly insulting. He hadn’t really meant to sound threatening the other day, and it was normal for the twins to test everyone’s patience. It seemed vaguely rude to be left out of their cycle of mockery and pranks, but at least he’d gotten his work done.

His mind was still wrapped around notions of Harry, and of Quidditch games, and he was suddenly coming to terms with the fact that this would be a highly public event…and he’d be with Harry in a seat that no one would fail to notice. Honestly, he should be worrying over a thousand things far more important than a Quidditch game, but it had to be admitted that this would be his first significant public appearance in years. There might very well be talk, or even press coverage, if he were seen publicly with Harry, and he hadn’t had to worry about things like that since he’d been sixteen. He also wasn’t entirely sure he was ready for that much scrutiny.

The Floo was in proper working order, and the Burrow wasn’t busy this time, and Draco returned home right on time feeling rather cheerful about having a home to go to, and a job to come back from. All things considered, it was a fairly decent situation. Draco said hello to Molly and nattered a bit about his work while he soaked up tea, then headed upstairs to peel out of the nice clothes he’d been in all day, and maybe pull on one of the old sweaters he’d grown fond of lately. It was kind of nice to lounge about in them, and they were wonderfully warm…a sensation he still hadn’t gotten over his affection for. Freezing nearly to death will do that to person.

He could hear Harry working out in his own room, even from down the hall. The staccato grunts that Harry made near the end of a long workout were familiar to him now, and a creeping curiosity took hold. Draco crept to the edge of Harry’s doorway and peered in as carefully and discreetly as he could.

Harry was doing push-ups. One-handed. His entire body was flushed from exertion, and his well-tanned skin had a bright sheen of sweat visible everywhere. He was only wearing a faded pair of red shorts, and Draco could see the faint outlines of a curse-scar on Harry’s leg. Every muscle in Harry’s body seemed taut and powerful, flexed and straining while he raised and lowered himself, grunting only at the end of each push. It was hypnotic. Magnificent. Exhilarating.

Also…stimulating.

Draco slipped away from the edge of the door and made his way to the shower. Maybe it had only been nine hours since he’d done this, but frankly, after seeing Harry in nothing but shorts, he needed this if he was supposed to get through the rest of the evening…and night…without humiliating himself.

Showers really were for things other than privacy while one masturbated, and Draco made full use of it first, shampooing and conditioning his hair, and promising himself he’d get it cut soon. It was getting just shaggy enough to touch his shoulders, and he didn’t want it there anymore. Soap was used next, and he lathered himself thoroughly, scrubbing his skin with a washcloth until he smarted slightly everywhere that mattered. Only then was it time for leisure, and his penis had been at half-mast the entire while.

This was a calmer and more rational undertaking than the frantic wank he’d had that morning, and he lavished certain extra attentions upon himself while he tugged gently down below. This time, he massaged the muscle just behind his sac in exactly the way he liked, and allowed a finger to occasionally ghost its way along the sensitive flesh just around his sphincter. His eyes were clamped shut and his head was at rest against the tiles of the wall while he teased himself. He hadn’t set the water as hot as usual, but he still felt like he was burning, right up to his cheeks, and his skull pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

Thoughts of Harry dominated his mind, and while they were largely thoughts of snogging, or of simple closeness and warm skin, a few bolder, wildly indelicate thoughts flashed through. Draco nudged the tip of his finger a little further, and feeling no discomfort, wiggled it about carefully. It was almost instinct that moved him, pushing himself to open for it, putting up no resistance, and the stimulation, however crude, was still pleasant. It was more than enough to send Draco over the edge into orgasm, cognizant of the way his own muscles clenched nicely around his fingertip. The fire of orgasm faded slowly, and Draco opened his eyes, panting, and sweating even though he was in a running shower.

After making certain that all the evidence was carefully washed away, Draco shut off the tap and found a towel to dry himself. Patting and rubbing until his slightly reddened skin was no longer damp, Draco wrestled with the slight depression that always followed these little ’sessions’.

’There’s no real question, is there? If I’d even imagine him doing that to me…I’ve got it for him so bad there’s no words for it. At least I could control myself through a healing session now…as long as there’s enough Calming Draught left to dope me into a state of low anxiety. He let it pass yesterday…but he won’t drop the subject forever. I have to do this and get it over with. Just hide certain parts with the sheets and let Harry work, and when it’s over you can relax. Oh, hell! This is pathetic! You want his dick in you…but you can’t even let him rub a little salve onto you! You can fall asleep and practically hump his leg like a lonely puppy…but you can’t turn your back on him without shuddering! Fucking ridiculous!’

Draco looked at himself in the mirror. The towel blocked the view of his scarred inner and upper thighs and buttocks, but he stared at his own image like he was hypnotized.

He let the towel drop.

He remembered getting those scars. Hyde-Pratt had been fond of hot irons, and found the sensitive flesh along his ribs, and between his legs, a most appealing target. The things he’d watched done to him, or simply felt through the haze of pain and drugs, had been mind-boggling. He’d been so dazed that most of it simply hadn’t felt real…except for the white hot agony that seared through everything, making the surreal nightmare suddenly come alive. He’d screamed until his throat bled. Noises had come from his throat that no human should make. He knew what it was like to smell his own flesh cook and scorch. He had a right to be afraid.

Somehow, in spite of everything, he still hungered to be loved, and in the back of his mind he still longed for a touch that wasn’t like the kind he had known. Harry had been gentle from the first. Even reluctant to help, and full of contempt for a person who had gotten his friends hurt, and his mentor killed, Harry had been breathtakingly gentle with every touch, treating Draco’s wounds, and later his scars, with a patience and quiet care that had been as exquisite as it was alien and unexpected. Despite the shudder that thoughts of the previous year brought, Draco straightened his spine and raised his chin a little, seeing a hint of the confidence he’d had just a few years ago.

‘I have every right to want him. Dula was right…about a lot of things. There can’t be anything wrong with wanting someone like that. Maybe I am fucked up in almost every way I can think of, and maybe he has problems that go way past normal, but he’s good. Harry is good inside, and he shows it in so many ways. He scares me shitless, but he’s trying. There is so much there to want. It isn’t about sex…well…not all about the sex. Why wouldn’t I want to be close to someone like him? When you…when you love somebody…you share those things with them. He isn’t MacNair. He isn’t Hyde-Pratt. He isn’t my uncle. He’ll never be like them. I won’t let him. Voldemort can’t have him. He’s going to be mine, and I mean to keep him.’

Draco gathered his clothes and towel, dressed quickly, and headed back to his room. It didn’t take more than a few seconds before Harry wandered in sheepishly, hinting that they were overdue to work on removing Draco’s scars. Draco nodded assent, plucked a vial of Calming Draught from the desk, and drank the entire contents, letting the magic seep into every fiber of his being. His breathing was calm and measured while Harry stepped outside and waited for Draco to strip away his slacks and arrange the sheets for modesty.

“I’m ready.”

Harry came back in and opened the jar of salve. He sat on the edge of the bed like usual, this time facing away from Draco so that he could reach the affected area properly. Draco had lain face down, with the sheet arranged to show only the thigh and buttock closest to Harry, and no more. In the aftermath of his moment of clarity in the bathroom, he was utterly calm…but Harry was not.

Harry applied the salve with his usual hesitance and familiar gentleness, and Draco was calmer than usual, if still somewhat uncomfortable with the feeling of a calloused handing softly stroking his leg and arse. Harry was having a lot more trouble than usual, however, since looking at any part of Draco’s backside brought forth thoughts he really wasn’t ready for yet.

’How can I think those things?! A bunch of fucking sick goons torture him and all I can think about is buggering him some more! Sick! This is wrong! This is sooo wrong! What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t want these things…they’re not right.’

Harry wanted them just the same. The images slid through his mind every so often, in complete defiance of his desire to put them aside. There were so many things he’d never done. So many things he’d never had the chance to try…and Draco was getting healthier…at least on the outside. His sickly pallor had become a fairly normal paleness. His skeletal appearance had diminished until he looked fairly attractive, if just a little too slender. His ribs could no longer be easily counted, and he was clean and groomed and always seemed content, if a little wistful. His skin was largely healed, save for the few marks that would likely never leave him, due to the Dark magic used while the wounds were inflicted, but the rest of him was whole and fine. Draco was becoming beautiful…and Harry couldn’t easily ignore it anymore.

What would Draco think…if he knew that Harry, despite his calm exterior, wanted to feel himself inside Draco’s body, making love to another for the first time? Would Draco ever be well enough to even try that? Was that even what he wanted? What if Draco wanted to do the same to Harry? The notion of making love to Draco was enticing and frightening at the same time, but the idea of Draco doing the same things TO Harry was absolutely terrifying. Did that make Harry shallow…or a terrible person, just because he didn’t want the same for Draco as for himself? This and more battered away at Harry’s calm.

The worst part was looking at the damage as it slowly faded. Harry had been hurt before…and badly too. He’d been scarred. Not like this though. Not in places like these. He hadn’t been violated in places so intimate that it made his cheeks burn to have them treated. They’d hurt Draco in so many ways. His mind as much as his body. Even after all he’d seen, and all he’d done, it still made Harry physically ill to see what had been done to Draco. The scars could fade, but Draco would always remember how he got them, and Harry would always know that they had been there.

The session didn’t end quickly either. Draco showed more resolve than ever, and despite quaking from head to toe more than once, he refused to quit when Harry asked if he needed a break. They kept going, first through Draco’s left side, then through the right. Draco turned onto his back, and with the faint modesty of a single sheet to keep his dignity, he sat through Harry’s treatment of his pelvis, upper thighs, and groin. Harry wished he’d taken the Calming Draught before it was all finished, and his nerves were completely shot by the time they were done. All that could be healed had been healed, and Draco was as relieved as Harry when it was over.

The intensity of it stole reason from them, and the evening passed in a blur for both boys. They kept the talk over dinner light, looking forward to the Quidditch game tomorrow, and discussing nothing more complicated than Draco’s work or Harry’s plans for evening workouts to better suit Draco’s schedule.

When the evening slid into night, and it was time to make their way to bed, their nightly rituals were performed in near silence. A simple change of clothes for pajamas, and wards against nightmares were set in place before lying quietly beside each other. Draco wordlessly curled into position at Harry’s left, and this time he took heart in something Dula had told him.

‘I have seen you touch him, Draco. It is clear that you do not like others touching you, but do you think he would not accept letting you decide what you are comfortable with?’

In the pitch black of the silent room in which they lay, Draco’s left hand slithered through the sheets, and came to rest on Harry’s chest. The pajama shirt wasn’t buttoned quite to the top, and the tips of Draco’s fingers were at rest against warm skin. He could feel the beat of Harry’s heart through his palm, and it’s evenness and perfect rhythm lulled him to sleep with a single sliver of hopeful memory to keep his dreams pleasant.

’I can touch him. I know he doesn’t hate me, and I know he cares about me…a lot. If…I can touch him…some…that would be something for him. I’d…I’d just have to trust him to not expect more. But do I trust him that much?’

And Draco did.


TBC!!!