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 45: I Am A Wizard

Draco watched the sunrise through the window, still wide awake after a night that felt far longer than it actually was. Harry slept soundly until just after sunrise, silent and placid by Draco’s side. Draco tried to pretend he was asleep as soon as Harry started to stir, and he hoped that Harry would just get up and leave him to his thoughts, but he knew realistically that there were questions that would be asked, and conversations that would be necessary. He’d resigned himself to the fact that today would be horrible, and even a few minor miracles couldn’t improve this state of affairs.

Harry finally woke and spoke Draco’s name a few times, until Draco grudgingly opened his eyes and pretended that he’d actually been sleeping. It was to be expected. Harry was entirely reasonable, which, at the moment, was the last thing Draco wanted. He was being handled like some fragile glass ornament, and every tiny kindness grated on his nerves. Despite good intentions, they were reminders that he was special…and different…and that he was treated differently because of what had happened.

How long had thoughts of last night rolled through his mind? He’d left everything behind, changed in ways that he never imagined were possible, and made it back from the brink of total dissipation…but he was still a whore. He’d washed away the scent of Fenton in the restroom last night, but the faint odor of musk and sweat still haunted him. The smell of a man’s sex clung to him, and he hadn’t even had the cushion of drugs or fever to dim his memory. It was real. He’d dropped to his knees and started sucking Fenton off almost without thinking. A real man would have fought it…but Draco had practically turned to jelly as soon as Fenton turned rough.

Worse than what he’d been through, Harry may have broken his word, endangered his soul, and risked the wrath of the Ministry because Draco had been tipsy and pissy, and had wandered off with a charming stranger like some ignorant infant. He hadn’t just let himself down, he might very well have let everything he was trying to accomplish fall apart. It was hard to believe in the things he’d thought were possible even a day ago.

The shower he took was an empty solace, bringing no comfort, and little warmth, despite nearly parboiling his skin in the heat. Breakfast might just as well have been ashes. Molly had done her usual finest, and Arthur was cheery enough, but Harry was stern and silent, occasionally making worried and pensive glances in Draco’s direction. It had been taken for granted that Draco wouldn’t go to work today, and Harry offered to make a visit and tell the twins himself. Draco was of two minds about it. He desperately needed time to think and rest, but he didn’t want to just do the expected and confirm his victimization by being coddled and cosseted. Either choice was good, and honestly, at the moment, he had trouble caring about either of them. In the end he just quietly asked Harry to Firecall the office and tell them he would be in tomorrow.

Arthur was the only one who acted like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and since he was the only one Draco felt comfortable around, naturally, he had to leave for work, leaving Draco with not one, but two, mother hens who fretted over his every glance or gesture. It wore on him before an hour had gone by, and Draco finally snapped, hating himself even as the words came out. It wasn’t that Molly or Harry had said anything that terrible…in fact quite the opposite. They were so cloying and sweet that it turned his stomach. He couldn’t even remember specific words, just a constant drone of supportive chatter.

“SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP! Leave me the fuck alone! I don’t want your fucking pity! Just shut up!”

The room was perfectly silent, and there were no looks of anger on Harry or Molly’s faces. Draco’s cheeks suddenly burned with embarrassment at his outburst.

“Gods…I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Molly…I…I have to go. I’m so sorry!”

Molly was answering even while Draco ran to grab a coat.

“Draco! It’s alright…there’s no harm, love. You don’t have to-”

The back door was closed before she was finished. Molly looked to Harry plaintively, and Harry hung his head low, unsure of what to say or do. If kindness had failed, what did Draco want or expect? He just didn’t know.

“I’ll go after him, Molly. Let’s just give him a few minutes to calm down. I…I don’t know what to tell you about yesterday. Draco…Draco was…assaulted last night. Ron said he’d told you some of it, but the Seeker from the Cannons’ got him alone in a trophy room and…he assaulted Draco…sexually. Ron broke in and stopped it partway through. Draco isn’t himself right now.”

Molly sat down, dreading what she suspected would come next.

“Harry. What did Ronald do? When he found them.”

Harry looked out the window, wishing he’d already made it outside.

“He beat the hell out of Fenton. Concussions, multiple breaks of the jaw and cheekbones, busted ribs, fingers and a broken foot. He took him to St. Mungo’s himself, then came back and helped Draco get himself together and make it home.”

Molly hung her head and sighed, torn between pride that Ron had defended Draco, and horror, that his actions had been so brutal, and fear that there would be a higher price for actions like those described. Harry spoke up again, already knowing where Molly’s fears lay.

“I’m proud of Ron. Fenton didn’t deserve anything less. He deserved more, but Ron stopped him and made him pay for what he’d done.”

“Oh, Harry! If it were that simple everyone would do things that way. There will be trouble over this…mark my words. Get your coat and look after Draco. I’ll be fine. The Daily Prophet should be here soon along with the mail. Just make sure he’s alright.”

Harry nodded and went to the cloakroom for his coat. Molly sat in the kitchen, clutching her tea with a hand that trembled faintly. These were bleak days, and worse were ahead if she’d learned anything over the years. Things like this didn’t pass without consequences, and it was only a matter of time before things became more complicated than they already were.

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Harry stepped into the cold November air. It had snowed during the night, and a light dusting of the stuff was everywhere. He could see Draco a hundred yards away, sitting on an old tree stump. At least he’d stuck close to the house and remained inside the wards. Harry began the journey over with a heavy heart. There would be questions about last night, and there were some he didn’t want to answer. Draco was special…and different. Harry hadn’t revealed all the details of his actions to anyone. Not the twins, not Ron, and not to Molly or Arthur. He hadn’t lied to them…but he had sinned by omission more than once, leaving out details they didn’t need to know. Only with Draco did he feel the need to tell more…to be utterly honest and share everything. Draco mattered in a way that was unique in Harry’s experience.

’How am I going to keep a lid on this? If he asks…I know I’ll tell. It’s not that I couldn’t lie to him…I just don’t want to. He’ll be furious when he finds out. What was I supposed to do? Let a fucking rich rapist buy his way out of trouble? Just let it slide because Ron cracked the guy’s head a little? He had it coming. I was careful. They can’t trace it to me. He has to understand this. He has to.’

Harry made his way to Draco’s side and sat down cross-legged in the snow. He didn’t care about cold or damp. A whispered spell took care of the damp, and the cold didn’t bother him much at all. If anything, it was just bracing enough to take the edge off the tension that simmered faintly inside him. Last night had taken the edge off the stress he’d felt for almost two weeks. Killing Fenton, even quietly and subtly, had been a pleasure, and he’d slept like a baby afterwards. It was the first time in days he’d slept without nightmares, and it came as a sweet relief. Harry sat beside Draco in perfect silence, waiting for Draco to speak first. When the words came, they were anguished, and Draco couldn’t even bear to look Harry in the eyes.

“What did you do, Harry? Fenton…what did you do to him?”

Harry sat silent just a few seconds longer than he should have. He wasn’t ashamed of what he’d done, but Draco would be upset, and that was all that counted.

“Fenton is dead. Aneurysm of the brain. Just after ten o’clock last night. Advanced Legilimency has more than just a few applications…and almost none of them are traceable. He was in bad shape anyway. Ron tore him up pretty bad, but they’d have had him well in a week or so. He won’t…he won’t hurt anyone again.”

Harry could see Draco shuddering despite the warm coat, and he wanted to say something that wouldn’t hurt…wouldn’t burn between them like brimstone.

“Harry…Harry…you promised. You promised me you wouldn’t kill anyone. How…how could you do that? Even to him. It doesn’t matter who…but how could you break your word? How?”

Draco’s voice was tremulous and cracking…and it was a fight to hold back tears. Harry felt his face start burning, knowing absolutely that Draco was livid beyond reasoning, and disappointed in him.

“How? He hurt you. I can forgive a lot. I can…but not that. He hurt you…and he paid with the only coin I accept. I swore I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you too, and I kept that promise. It meant breaking the other, but I’d do it again, just for the pleasure of making him pay again. I watched him die for what he did, and I’m not ashamed of it. I don’t…I…don’t deal well with people hurting anyone I…anyone I love.”

That final word hung between them like lead. Draco almost hated Harry for using it, but his tone had been serious, and almost frightened. Childlike and lost. Draco could barely handle the conflict in his heart. As much as he wanted Harry, he knew better than anyone what was at risk, and Harry was sliding into darkness in front of him…practically because of him! It was unbearable. He’d fucked up…and Harry might be destroyed by his own blind rage and lust for vengeance. It was a good word to hear…love…but it reminded Draco of what he was in danger of losing if he failed, and no mistake…he’d failed mightily.

“Oh. Oh, fucking Merlin, Harry…what have you done? What have you fucking done? I believed in you…but I never thought you’d do this…because of me. I…I can’t handle this. I can’t…I can’t take it. I…I have to go…”

“NO! That’s it! I’ve had enough! Draco! This…was…not…your…fault! Fenton was a sick fuck! Now he’s a sick, dead fuck! I never should have left you alone…not even for a minute. I hadn’t seen Oliver since school, but Oliver’s just a mate…I don’t love him. I’m sorry any of that happened, but I won’t see you blaming ANY of this on you! Not now…not EVER! It’s pure bollocks! He died because he was a fucking rapist bastard, and what was coming to him finally found him…not because of you. Because of him! LOOK AT ME!”

Draco had tried to look away, but something in Harry's voice was certain and sure, and couldn’t be argued with.

“Whatever happens, I’m yours, Draco. I don’t care what happens to me, but I won’t let anyone hurt you again. It’s not something we can discuss, because we’ll never agree. It just is. I’m going in, and I’m going back to my books, until I find a way to help you. If you leave I’ll find you. I won’t hurt you, but I will find you and bring you home, so just drop that line of thinking right there. Just know that you didn’t do one…fucking…thing…wrong! What happened only happened because a fucking perverted bastard went too far. I’ll see you when you’re ready to see me.”

Harry stormed off, and true to his word, he went up to his room and delved into the pile of texts that awaited him. Molly remained in the kitchen, watching the mournful and confused boy that sat outside, torn from within and without, until the arriving mail distracted her.

It was like a plague of owls had descended upon them. Aside from the papers, which were nothing more than rags in her opinion, there were letters for Harry and Draco, and a box from Ollivander’s that could only be Draco’s wand. Molly left the rest on the table and rushed outside with the package, praying that this one small thing might brighten the poor boy’s day.

While Molly hurried out, Ron exploded out of the Floo, sober as a head wound, carrying the gifts he’d made for Harry and Draco, and headed for the kitchen. The stack of mail lay on the table, and The Daily Prophet waited to be read. He flipped open the front page, and let the damage done the previous night make itself evident.

CANNONS’ SEEKER DIES MYSTERY DEATH IN ST. MUNGO’S!

They had the details mostly right for once, just when they were so bad that getting them wrong could only improve things. It figured. The article detailed Fenton’s brief disappearance from the party, and Ron’s arrival at St. Mungo’s with the sorry bastard. He’d been named a ‘person of interest’ immediately after Fenton’s death, but he had every intention of having himself safely Obliviated before he was questioned. Harry would know what to do.

There was a side article in the gossip columns about Draco Malfoy reappearing first in Diagon Alley, then at the Cannons' home game, alongside Harry both times. Not surprisingly, they made mention of the fact that Harry and Draco had been at the same party that Fenton and Ron had been at, shortly before Fenton’s death. It might as well have been a command to include Harry and Draco in the investigation, the rat bastards! Funny that the gossip column had never in two years mentioned that Fenton had assaulted or at least coerced sex out of anyone who said no to him…not that there were many that said no…but for some reason the arrogant fuck had hated to let someone he wanted get away. The egotistical prat never did accept that there were people who hadn’t any fucking use for his dick, and it had finally cost him his life. He’d tried to talk Harry out of it, and Harry had seemed coldly reasonable at the time, but Ron had known that when Harry left, he wasn’t heading home. For home he could have used the Floo, but Harry took his coat and walked out into the night. Ron had tracked down the gifts he’d given them, left behind in all the confusion, and took them home to wait until he could come by and deliver them again in person.

Ron sat down and sighed. That morning he’d been contracted by the management of the Cannons. He’d been sacked on the spot, since he’d broken the only rule that did matter. Teammates were sacrosanct, and no matter what the dispute, you never attacked your own. They didn’t care that Fenton had been a worthless, unredeemable bastard. All they cared about was the Cup and their reputation…and the Galleons that Fenton’s fame had brought in. Ron had kept his silence, claiming that he’d had past disagreements with Fenton, and that they’d argued about something trivial. He’d solidly refused to reveal Draco’s embarrassment at Fenton’s hands. As far as he was concerned, they could take their brooms and contracts and stuff them in their gilded arses if they liked, and he’d told them as much right then. Yesterday had been his last day as a professional Quidditch player, and oddly, he didn’t really mind.

Ron’s eyes flicked over the stack of mail. He recognized Dula’s neat script on one of the letters, and it was addressed to Draco. Odd that, but not too odd. Seeing as Draco was a poof, it made sense that he’d taken a shine to Dula. You couldn’t ask for a better role model than that, and even Ron had to admit that a bloke could do a lot worse than to fall for a fellow like Dula. His brother was a lucky bastard to have someone like that in his life, and Ron had been jealous of them more than once. Not because Dula was attractive to him. The notion of a man in his bed mostly made Ron want to puke, but he was envious of the way they seemed so good together. It’d be nice to have something like that for himself, and he’d certainly want something like that for Harry, no matter if it was with Draco or not.

The letter wasn’t spelled or warded, and Ron’s curiosity was itching, but he let it rest, promising himself he’d ask Draco how Dula and Charlie were doing later. He headed upstairs to find Harry, hoping against hope that Fenton’s death really had been some accident at the hospital.

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

Draco heard Molly calling him as she strode across the lawn, clutching a small box and waving it. A wand box. Ollivander's!

“DRACOOO! It’s here! Your wand’s come, love! Just off the owl a minute ago! Oh, give it a try, dear! We’ve got to see this at work!”

Even a wand couldn’t take the edge off of Draco’s mood. At least he was a wizard again, but it didn’t seem like much of a victory. Draco stood up and took the package from Molly, then opened it calmly, not really feeling the magic…so to speak. Inside the small box, a folded letter waited atop the velvet lined case that held the wand. Draco flipped it open and read it aloud.

“Dear Mr. Malfoy,

You have our most sincere apologies for our lateness, but due to the unusual working materials, the greatest of care was needed to craft this wand. It was necessary for Mr. Ollivander Sr., who has been in retirement since his captivity during the war, to return to work with us on this most unique and excellent wand.

We assure you that you will find it more than satisfactory, and the components used have never before been combined in a single wand, thus, the expertise of many people was required to ensure the quality we are famous for today.

We present to you with great pride a wand of precisely ten and one quarter inches, crafted from the heartwood of an ancient yew, felled by lightning. Strong, yet flexible, tempered by the very fire of the heavens. The core is of a new phoenix feather, and inserted into the very tip is the tear of a dragon.

Congratulations, and do please contact us to provide feedback on its performance, as we have never before crafted a wand such as this, and we greatly desire to follow its accomplishments…at your leisure of course.

Yours Sincerely,

The Staff and Management of Ollivander’s Wands, Est. 382 B.C.”

Draco pulled the wand from its case, and felt the potential thrumming around him. It was a perfect match, and he could already feel it without having cast a single spell.

Dragon’s tears were incredibly rare and valuable. The tip of this wand held a crystallized tear from a dragon of ancient times, dug from the earth of an old dragon’s lair. The crystal itself was worth a hundred wands easily. They were among the most sought after of magical artifacts, because they focused and channeled magic with incredible potency and ease. How on earth could Harry have gotten his hands on a…CHARLIE AND DULA! Those magnificent bastards had given Harry a dragon’s tear…just for Draco‘s wand!

Draco took a few steps, and with a delicate flourish, cast a simple spell from his first year, something harmless and familiar to start with.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

The leaf he’d aimed at jetted upward, and froze precisely where he wished it to do so, hovering in mid-air.

Draco smiled and turned to the old stump that was embedded deep in the earth.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

It tore free of the earth with little more effort than the leaf had taken. Molly applauded loudly with a joyful cry of amazement. Draco may not have had Harry’s raw power and knack for wandless magic, but he was holding one of the most perfect spell-casting instruments ever crafted.

‘I’m a wizard. I may be a mess, and a fool, and all those other things, but I’m a wizard again. I may never accomplish anything else in this life, but I’m a wizard again. Give me a spell to change the world…and I can cast it. I am a wizard!’

TBC!!!