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 5: Farewell Knives Of Pain, Hello Knives Of Fear


Draco Malfoy woke late in the afternoon. Faint clicking noises rattled at the edge of his conscious mind, and panic stole through him as he sensed an unfamiliar environment. He woke with a start, pulling in a panic breath and staring around, wild-eyed and frightened, searching for an exit if one was needed.

Molly Weasley was sitting in a battered old chair, knitting a scarf, needles clicking away as she worked. She let the needles work by magic while she turned and smiled pleasantly at Draco.

“Well! Good afternoon, sleepyhead. You were a terrible mess last night, but you look a bit more alert today. How do you feel, dearie?”

Draco couldn’t answer through the shock that overwhelmed him. ‘I’m…I’m in the Weasley Burrow. How the HELL did I get here?’

Although he was terribly light-headed, and suddenly more than a little dizzy, it was the first time in longer than he could remember that he wasn’t feverish from multiple infections. The sense of mental clarity was shocking, and he was aware of so many little things at once that, at first, it took him aback.

The strange sensation of resting on an actual bed for once. The sudden awareness that he was clean, didn’t smell, didn’t feel greasy or unkempt, and didn’t itch from the filth. The scent of musty blankets and quilts that likely hadn’t been used in years. Warmth. He was warm for the first time in weeks. It was quite possibly the most pleasant feeling he’d ever had…next to the realization that he could breathe deeply and it didn’t send knives of pain through his chest. He suddenly realized that he was leaving his host’s questions unanswered, and he couldn’t even remember what she’d said.

“W-what?” It turned out his voice was still unsteady, and his throat still hurt a bit. He wound up coughing, but it wasn’t half as torturous as it had been the day before.

“Oh! I’m sorry, young man. I have a potion for that throat of yours that ought to help. I was just waiting for you to wake before I used it. Never liked dosing people while they were unconscious…always felt wrong…and I certainly did enough of that last night. Here you go.”

Draco shakily reached for the offered potion, sniffing the contents warily. Then it dawned on him that he didn’t really care if it killed him or not, and he drank it without complaint. The soreness of his throat soothed immediately, and he could feel a pleasant numbness soaking through his upper chest. When he finally spoke, he was amazed to hear his own voice, sounding like himself for the first time in a year, coming out of a mouth that had rasped and hacked for longer than he could recall.

“Thank you. How…how did I get here?”

“Mr. Malfoy…you asked for sanctuary last night. We honored that request. You were very ill, but between Poppy Pomfrey, myself, and Harry, we managed to put you into slightly better shape than you were in. You were terribly feverish, and I suppose I’m not surprised that you forgot. I do need to know how you’re feeling, else I can’t decide what to treat next, or whether to continue treatment of a few of your more lingering ailments.”

Molly Weasley’s friendly and matter of fact tone made Draco edgy. He’d spent so long living like an animal, it was hard to remember that he used to think…and live…another way. Etiquette was something he hadn’t used in more than a year, and he hesitated before answering, unsure of what to say after such a revelation.

“I…I feel better…like I can think straight. I just feel weak, though. Tired. Dizzy. But I can breathe…and it only feels sore…like my shoulder. You…you gave me sanctuary?”

“Yes. No Weasley or Prewett has ever rejected a request for sanctuary. I should like to apologize on behalf of our household. I’m afraid Harry assaulted you last night…and rather violently I’m afraid. The soreness in your shoulder was from a dislocation he caused. I stopped him, and accepted your request for sanctuary, and you have nothing to fear inside these walls. Now that you’re a guest, if you mind yourself and don’t harm anyone here, you may stay as long as it takes to recover completely. Your dizziness and fatigue is from hunger. I‘ve already prepared some good broth and bread to start you on, and we‘ll get you back on some proper feeding as soon as we can.”

Draco’s mind reeled at the influx of information. Flickers of memory crawled across his vision. Things had gone pear-shaped in Muggle London. He’d made it as far as Diagon Alley, his first visit there since…Draco pushed that memory from his mind and continued. He’d been fevered and hurting badly, hunger sick from the journey to Diagon Alley, and after being pushed out of people’s way, and spat on when recognized, he’d gotten a notion.

In his fever-crazed brain, one common link held true. Everyone was afraid of Harry Potter. No one would help a former Death Eater, and no one would even associate with him longer than was necessary to tell him to piss off. It always came back to Harry Potter. Everyone knew he guarded the Weasley Burrow like a hawk, and lived there when he wasn’t out hunting for ex-Death Eaters in hiding. There was one person that wasn’t afraid of Potter…and that was Potter himself.

It had occurred to him that he might well get killed asking Potter for help, and again, he really hadn’t cared. Death sounded like a long and quiet rest next to what he’d seen this last year, and if that was the worst that could happen, so be it. He’d stumbled around begging for help shamelessly, until an elderly witch with poor eyesight took pity and called the Knight Bus for him. Ottery St. Catchpole was a fair journey from Diagon Alley, and all he remembered was fitful sleep, a bouncing stop, and a freezing walk of several miles after that.

Potter. He remembered green eyes that blazed with smoldering wrath, and the surprise that Potter seemed enormous now. He remembered talking…begging really. Then he remembered the bright sharpness of pain, and blissful darkness. He’d thought he was dying. The last thing he remembered was feeling relieved when his consciousness slid away. Now he was here, warm, clean, and feeling better than he’d felt in over a year. Then he remembered that his host was in front of him, waiting patiently.

“Thank you.” Draco sighed and slid back onto the pillows. “Thank you. No one else would help me. I…I thought I died last night. I didn’t think I’d wake up like this. I can’t…I can’t believe you healed me. I don’t have any money…I should go…I can’t take…”

Molly Weasley raised her voice sternly. “Draco Malfoy! Don’t you dare imply that any sort of payment is owed for sanctuary! I wouldn’t take it if you had it. Sanctuary is a tradition, and a well respected one at that. You aren’t well yet, and you won’t be going anywhere until you are. Your gratitude is appreciated, but I should appreciate it more if you put your effort into getting yourself healthy!”

Draco cringed a little, frightened by the notion of giving offense to the woman who had obviously just saved his life. Molly’s face softened when she saw him hunkering back against the pillows, and she spoke quietly.

“Mr. Malfoy, you’ve been made welcome here, and not with reservation. You owe nothing, but we do need to talk. To heal you, it was necessary to learn what ailed you. It was quite a list. Is there anything you wish to tell me about how you came to be here?”

Draco shuddered. His mouth opened and closed involuntarily. The horrifying realization came to him quickly. She knew. More than she was saying. She knew some of what had happened. His face burned with shame, and Draco bit his lip nervously, biting down hard enough to make it hurt, hoping he wouldn’t lose his self control.

“I…I was robbed. They…I got hurt. Lost all my stuff. Wand, signet ring, a little bit of money. That’s how I wound up wandering around without help. People…weren’t very kind. Please, it‘s just Draco now. Please call me Draco.”

Draco couldn’t seem to stop shaking…his own limbs were betraying him. Molly spoke even softer than before. She reached out to pat his hand, which was nervously clenching the sheets, and he pulled away like he’d been scalded…it wasn’t even a conscious gesture, more a gut reaction to encroaching panic.

“Draco. You have nothing to be ashamed of anymore. Whoever hurt you is to blame for what they did…not you. The war is over. That mark on your arm means nothing now. I rather think you’ve paid more than enough for your mistakes. Perhaps your things were taken from you, but there was far more to it than that, I’m sure. Deception isn’t appropriate here. You may tell me that you don’t wish to speak of something, and I’ll accept that, but no one here will think ill of you for having been hurt.”

Draco’s rather tenuous grasp on his calm evaporated. Later, he wasn’t really aware of how long he’d been crying, only that there were more tears inside him than he’d imagined were possible. At some point he became aware that his head was being held in Mrs. Weasley’s lap, and his hair was being stroked, while she cooed out words of sympathy and soothing. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out of control, and flushed furiously, sitting up slowly, painfully conscious of the fact that, with the sheets slid back, his naked chest and back were a mass of scar tissue, now exposed. She had already seen them, but he wasn’t used to being seen by others like this. It was horribly awkward…almost humiliating. Two years ago, such a loss of dignity would have been unthinkable.

Draco accepted a cloth to wipe his eyes and nose with, and mused that, two years ago, he’d had dignity left to lose. That was a different life, and had no relevance to his existence since then. He felt an instant and overwhelming affection for the woman he’d once sneered at from a distance, and mocked openly to her son.

His own mother never would have encouraged such a display of emotion. Not that it mattered, since his mother was a vegetable in St. Mungo’s now, tortured nearly to death, and left completely catatonic, by the Dark Lord. It had been punishment for Draco’s failure, and for his sudden disappearance with Severus Snape. Molly Weasley had shown more kindness in a night than he’d witnessed in years, and he felt a closeness to this person that he’d never felt before, even with his own family. He finally started speaking…rambling really… he just felt like he had to say something.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…about everything. The things I said, the things I did. Snape left me alone…I had nowhere…no one to turn to. I ran into one of them…Knockturn Alley…I asked for place to stay. They…then they hurt me...for a long time. Please don’t ask…about it. They took everything, they pushed me out of an auto in Muggle London. I don’t know how long I’ve been wandering around, and I had to…to do things…just to live. When I got here, I half-hoped Harry would kill me. I can’t believe you took me in. I’m so sorry…for Hogwarts, for all of it. I swear you won’t be sorry you let me in…I swear it!”

“Tch tch…shhhh! It’s alright, love. You’re safe here.”

Inwardly, Molly was fighting tears of her own. It was hard to watch a young man so wounded by life fall apart in front of her, but like wounds of the flesh, the dark and ugly wounds to his spirit had to be opened and cleaned before they could properly heal. It was hard for her as well, but she knew it must have been far harder for a boy that had once been so proud.

“I have some food to fetch for you, and I have some clothing sorted out that ought to fit at least passing well. Some of Percy’s old things, he was always a tall, slender one, our Percy. You shouldn’t do more than rest for now, but the bathroom is down the hall on the right, and there’s a chamber pot beside the bed if you‘ve trouble walking. I’ll be back in just a bit, and we’ll go over some of the potions and spells that you’ll be seeing a lot of for awhile. Now just breathe easy and collect yourself...and remember…the past is dead and gone…nothing changes that. All we have is today, and the future. You’ve got to make up your mind what to do with them, and no one can do that for you…you’ve got to do it yourself. Understood, love?”

Draco sniffed and nodded, unsure of what to say to such a thing. Slytherin didn’t prepare a person for bluntness and profound statements. He mumbled assent, and leaned back against the pillows, suddenly noticing that the muscles of his stomach hurt from sobbing. Molly Weasley stood up, and with a wry and careworn smile, left the room to bring some food, which already sounded frighteningly good to Draco, even if it was bread and broth.

His head was still fuzzy, owed to months of malnutrition, and his vision spun a little while he rested, turning the room into a carnival funhouse. Draco sighed deeply, feeling oddly comfortable, and yet terribly uncertain at the same time. Fear had been a constant companion for so long that he wasn’t sure how to let go of it, but he couldn’t feel afraid right now.

Draco’s eyes flicked to his right, and the tall, lean shadow in the doorway moved forward silently. Draco cringed back before he could stop himself, and he felt thinly veiled anger and menace radiating outward from Harry.

Potter loomed over the bed, a perfect mask of neutral control clamped down over his features. He was taller than Draco remembered, and heavier looking, too. The schoolboy hadn’t looked so powerful, or so dangerous. This man looked like Potter, but he carried himself like a killing machine who knew what he was capable of, and was at peace with it. Draco’s instincts told him to remain as submissive as possible, and he followed those instincts to the letter, keeping his head low and his hands close to his body, trying not to tremble too obviously.

“Malfoy. This is my home. These are people I love dearly. Like Hogwarts used to be. You’re here, and you’re staying, but you need to know one thing before Molly gets back.”

Harry reached behind himself, and withdrew a huge, black-bladed, and wickedly sharp knife from some hidden sheath. Draco felt his heart leap and his eyes bulge. His bladder felt painfully full all of a sudden, and if crawling toward an exit had been possible, he’d have started on the spot.

“If anything…anything at all…happens to these people, I promise you that, when I get my hands on you, I’ll make anything Voldemort dished out feel like a stern lecture from Dumbledore! Am I absolutely clear?”

Draco swallowed, and nodded eagerly. This was the nightmare Harry of last night, just a foot from him, armed, and terrifying in his wrath. Suddenly, he realized that this wasn’t as safe a place as he’d hoped and almost believed.

Harry slid the knife into the sheath on his back, and looked at Draco coldly.

“Good. As long as we understand that, you’ll get on fine here. We’ll talk again.”

The last words were delivered with a sneer that was reminiscent of Draco’s youth, and it seemed so out of place on Harry’s face that it was all the more nerve rattling. Harry turned around and walked out, footsteps as faint as before, all the grace of a hunting cat in his gait. Draco shivered from head to toe, wondering if he’d dropped out of the frying pan, only to land in the fire.


TBC!!!