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 52: What Stirs Within


The days that followed left Draco waiting on pins and needles, terrified and yet excited. Harry, not knowing that Snape’s assent was guaranteed, had interpreted Draco’s tension as a symptom of uncertainty…and he was right after a fashion. Though only Draco knew with certainty that Snape would come, the real source of his apprehension was the cruel knowledge that Voldemort dwelt in Harry’s spirit. It was all Draco could do to suppress a shudder when Harry joined him in bed, and Harry could still tell that something was wrong. It was heartbreaking for Draco, knowing that Harry, the real Harry, his Harry, wanted desperately to help…to comfort, but when he tried to get close to Harry he couldn’t avoid the faint and sometimes even serious revulsion that his secret knowledge had brought.

A new work week had started, bringing distraction that was much needed. Draco poured himself into his work, overwhelming the twins with his output and organizational skills. The twins had been surprisingly empathic, and had sensed Draco’s desire to focus on his work for awhile. He’d actually been upbraided for working too hard and skipping lunches. It wasn’t that he had no appetite, but the temporary freedom that came of concentrating on something simple and easily accomplished was sweet relief, and Draco didn’t like breaking away from the work and facing the worries that lurked in his mind. He endured more than enough of those concerns when he was home, during supper, sitting up during the evening, or when he was trying to sleep with Harry beside him.

It had occurred to Draco that Harry didn’t absolutely have to sleep beside him, but the idea of sleeping alone was equally discomforting…not to mention the way such a request would hurt Harry. The last thing he needed right now, this close to Snape’s arrival, was to be estranged from Harry, whom he needed to keep close at any cost, and not just because Harry was a potential danger to himself and others.

He needed Harry because…well…he needed Harry. There was nothing unsettling about Harry’s patience with Draco’s seemingly inexplicable moods. Harry was reasonable, attentive, and just distant enough to give Draco a bit of space, while never actually acting embittered or pulling completely away from Draco. It was a little maddening, being presented with behavior that was completely endearing, and being completely paralyzed by fear and disgust when he tried to show that he appreciated it.

The only bright side…if one could call such a thing a bright side at all, was that Draco was usually too petrified by the notion of sleeping next to a host for Voldemort to even remotely entertain romantic thoughts about Harry. Not waking up sticky or clingingly tangled around Harry was a small relief…sort of. When Draco was alone…in the shower…or when Harry was away, his imagination rather missed that closeness, even if the results of it had been occasionally embarrassing. The only kisses that had passed between them in days were nervous, chaste little pecks that took all of Draco’s iron nerve to deliver. Harry was obviously worried by Draco’s reticence, but there was nothing to be done for it…yet. Draco had made up his mind that, once Snape had set him right in the head, as soon as he recovered, he’d make the fullest possible apology to Harry...in whatever fashion seemed most enjoyable at that moment.

It was an intoxicating thought, and one that every so often stopped Draco completely when he was busy, occupying his mind and firing his imagination. What would it be like, to live without fear? He’d been afraid for so long that it seemed alien to imagine a life not dominated by fear. Even when he’d been happy, or cheered by good company, fear had still been a faint and constant presence in his heart and mind. How would his life be defined without that familiar presence? Would he really be able to touch and be touched? To be hugged by Molly when there was cause for good cheer, or patted on the shoulder in celebration? Would it be possible for him to curl into Harry’s arms and just be held for as long as it pleased him? That alone would be worth any headache that Severus Snape had warned him about.

The most perverted part of it all was that, despite never actually having had sex with Harry, he felt vaguely ashamed of masturbation, simply because Harry wasn’t a part of the process…except in Draco’s imagination, of course. He’d hovered on the brink of exploring sexuality with Harry for days, only to see his desires thwarted by the terrible memory of what lay in Harry’s aura. A serpent was clutched to Harry’s breast, in the form of Voldemort’s undying shade, and try as Draco might, he couldn’t drive that knowledge from his conscious mind when Harry was near. It was completely vexing, and Draco spent nearly every day in a state of complete agitation, biting his tongue to keep harsh words at bay while his temper slowly frayed.

The arrival of the letter from Snape single-handedly turned the tide. Harry had read it while Draco was at work, and promptly Flooed to the office to share the news. Harry strolled into Draco’s small workroom with a smile that spoke volumes, and handed Draco the letter without fanfare, quietly waiting for Draco to read it. The answer wasn’t a surprise to Draco, but the interminable wait made necessary by secrecy was finally over, and he could finally see a partial end to his torment approaching.

Mister Potter,

I will be arriving tonight, at the Weasley Burrow, by Floo, at precisely six in the evening. I will require a room and meals for three days at the most.

Let me assure you that I have no need to curry your favor. This will be done for Draco’s benefit, and no other’s. Your apology, such as it is, is sufficient.

Severus Snape

Draco sighed with relief, and smiled back at Harry with a giddy, almost schoolboy-like, demeanor. It was hard to reconcile the image of the killer with the person practically bouncing on his toes with excitement now.

“Well? What do you think? He said yes…he’s coming tonight. He’ll probably do this tomorrow. This could be your last night with nightmare warding spells…ever! Aren’t you excited?”

Harry’s ebullience was infectious, and Draco pushed aside the letter and took a few deep breaths before he answered.

“I am…really. It’s just that…it’s like a dream, Harry. I guess I’m just not used to them coming true. I don’t want to be excited until I have a good reason to be, and if something happens between now and tomorrow to muck this up, I want to be able to stay sane. I don’t want to be like this anymore, but I feel like, if I let myself get too hopeful, and then something goes wrong, I’d be half-crazed. Does that make any sense?”

Harry nodded, suddenly sober and serious. “I’m sorry, love. I just wanted to see you smiling. Even just for a few minutes. I…you haven’t cheered up at all since this started…the day I wrote that letter, and…”

Harry was already turning pink and looking away fretfully. Draco knew something uncomfortable would come of this, but there was no way out of it without hurting Harry’s feelings. He’d just have to roll with the punches.

“…and I…I feel like I did something that upset you. If I knew what, I swear I’d set it right. I’ll try harder…do anything you ask, just…please…don’t shut me out.”

Draco cringed inside. It was so fucking hard, biding his time, keeping these secrets and playing these games. It was like Slytherin house all over again…but worse. This was real life…and a lot of lives were at stake. So much on the line, and it was still all he could do to keep himself from spilling everything and begging Harry for forgiveness. His face was drawing up, tight and miserable, and Harry was already looking like he was sorry he spoke. Something begged to be said.

“It’s…it’s not you, Harry. I didn’t mean for you to think that. I don’t know what to say. I…sometimes I can’t talk about the things I think…without falling apart. So I keep silent. Can you let me have that? I think I’ll be better…soon. Maybe…maybe I didn’t say it right, but Snape wouldn’t be coming at all if you hadn’t thought of a way to help me. I’m just…shite!…I’m fucking scared, okay. Everything is changing and I don’t know what the hell to expect and and…”

Draco was starting to ramble and babble, and Harry broke in immediately, hands out and palms up in a gesture of pacification.

“It’s alright! Don’t worry over it. I understand…now. It’ll be fine. Snape is coming tonight, and you’ll be sorted out and sleeping the night through before the weekend gets here. One thing at a time, right?”

Draco gulped a few breaths and composed himself, then begged off and sent Harry home with an edgy kiss on the cheek and a promise to see him back at the Burrow. There were moments when he wanted to just Apparate away and keep traveling until no one knew him, and this was one of them, but he’d come much too far to quit now. Draco’s paperwork beckoned, a siren call that offered peace and serenity, and he forced himself to keep going until the day was done.

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


Harry sat in the Burrow’s living room, staring into the empty chimney. Draco would be home soon, and not long after that, Snape would arrive. This was not an occasion for celebration. Snape had his uses, and with Draco’s health on the line, even Harry could see that…but he didn’t like it…or Snape. Not one bit.

Severus Snape had always hated Harry Potter, and the feeling had been perfectly mutual. Since Harry’s first year at Hogwarts, Snape had used his authority and influence to belittle, bedevil, defame and otherwise make Harry’s already complicated life a little more difficult. In short, the man was a black-robed thorn in Harry’s arse, and he didn’t expect that to change anytime soon.

Harry knew some of the source of Snape’s constant irritation. His father, James, had humiliated Severus more than a few times when they were students, and obviously represented everything that Snape could never have been…like popular, handsome, accomplished at anything other than Dark curses or potions. Snape had carried that grudge for more than a decade, and it was their Pensieve and Occlumency lessons that had clued Harry in about Snape’s lingering hatred of all things Potter. If he’d shown up on his first day at Hogwarts and killed Voldemort on the steps of the school, Snape would have still found fault somehow, and just the memory of the arrogant bastard sneering down at him was enough to make his fists ball up with frustration.

’GOD! I can’t believe I agreed to this. If it was for anything less than Draco…I swear…I’d hand that snarky git his own teeth.’

Harry sighed and slumped into the easy chair he occupied, cursing his luck and facing facts.

’It is for Draco though. There’s nothing else to be done for it. I can’t stand seeing him like this. The part that makes it worse is knowing he’s so close to being well, and watching him look more miserable than ever. It makes me want to puke. Every time I see him flinch away, I know he’s thinking about touching me.

I…I miss how things were…before. He was happy about the wand…and he was okay until just a few days ago. Ever since I sent that fucking letter, he’s been a walking wreck. I thought he’d forgiven me for what happened with Fenton. Maybe I went too far? What if he just leaves as soon as he’s well? Should I just say goodbye…or should I at least try to fight for him? Shite! I just don’t know. I don’t know anything. I’m pants at this kind of thing…and I wasn’t even a poof until a few weeks ago. How the hell would I know anything about this stuff?

Look at me. I save the world from a Dark Lord, and I spend the day with my guts in a knot because someone I hated for eight years doesn’t act like he really loves me. This is complete bollocks. Get it together, Potter. If you so much as blink while Snape’s here, you’ll never hear the end of it.’

Harry pushed his hair back and tried to maintain his composure, but Molly entered the room with cups of tea for the both of them and sat down in the chair next to Harry’s, looking like she was about to speak.

Harry thanked her for the tea, silently thanking her for pulling his thoughts away from Draco and Snape for the moment.

“Bless you. I kind of needed a cuppa. Been too worked up lately anyway. I might go for a run in a bit. I just need to get things off my mind.”

Molly smiled gently, sipping at her cup, and fixed Harry with a serious gaze.

“Oh, Harry. I’m not blind, love. Not at all. Something’s been wrong all week between you and Draco, and I’ve seen you like this every day this week. Maybe I can’t help, but I just wish you’d trust me enough to talk about it. Whatever’s off between you can surely be set right…and even I can see how much he likes you even now. What’s been eating at you, Harry?”

Harry sighed and flopped bonelessly back into the softness of the chair, vaguely embarrassed by how badly he wanted to just spill everything. He was tired of being strong, being independent, coping with things alone, and Molly was one of the few people left that Harry trusted implicitly not to hurt him. He finally cracked, haltingly letting the words out.

“I’m scared, Molly. Snape…Snape is going to help him…and he might just leave. I think he’s…he’s still upset about what I did…after the party. Ever since I wrote that letter to Snape, he’s been distant…and I hate it. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, and I feel like it’s all falling apart in front of me. I’ve never…felt…this way…about anyone! What do I do if he leaves? What if he never forgives me for…for Fenton?”

Harry felt himself starting to shudder, and words were coming hoarsely to him now, while he grimaced, fighting back the urge to cry. Molly listened soberly, an impassive and empathetic presence at his side.

“I don’t…want to lose him! I think…I think he’s scared of me. Or scared that I won’t do the right things. I…don’t know who I am…anymore. I feel like…like two people inside, and I’m never sure what I’ll do next. Sometimes everything makes sense, and…then…then it changes…and I’m doing things before I can even stop myself! I don’t…I don’t know how to make him believe in me…and I’d give anything…anything to see him happy, but I think I‘ve…I‘ve screwed everything up! I know I don’t have any right to ask this, but…help? Help me? Please, Molly?”

Molly had already sat up and put down her tea. With a single step forward, she encircled Harry in her arms, rubbing his back gently while stifled, nearly grunted sobs racked their way out of Harry’s body.

“That’s it, love. Just let it go. You carry too much on yourself, Harry. You always did, and you still do. You don’t have to hold those things in…not here.

I know that what’s between you and Draco is new for you…and just as new for him. It’s plain to see he fancies only you, Harry. Don’t fear for that, but think of him clearly, Harry. Can you blame him for being afraid of what he’s feeling…what he’s thinking? I’m sure he doesn’t want to leave us just yet. He’s already well enough to have left here, and I’m almost sure the only thing keeping him here is you…and I’m glad of it. If he wants to stay he can take up with us for as long as he’d like, and I think he will.

Draco is a wonderful boy. As good in his way as you are, and I’m sure he knows how you feel. As soon as he’s well, and Mr. Snape has seen to his needs, I’ve no doubt he’ll feel freer about talking to you. It’s been hard for him these past weeks, finding his way after so much, but he’s such a determined lad. He’ll make his way yet, and I’m sure there’s a part for you to play in whatever he decides to make of his life next.

All I can say for certain is…hold your temper, love. He can’t be blamed for being frightened of violence…and there’s a lesson in this that you should have learned before now. You owe it to him to control yourself. Let go of the past, Harry. Nothing good comes of nursing old hates…you have to set those free and start over. That boy has no business being close to brutality of any kind…if anything, he needs to be surrounded by just the opposite. He needs to believe that life can be different than what he’s seen. You want him to see that, don’t you?”

Harry took his comfort from Molly’s closeness. He hadn’t broken down like this since he’d been in school…since Sirius had been killed. Even then, he’d been quiet and sad long after, but never public in his grief. By the time others around him had died, he’d long since learned to contain himself, functioning when others would have let themselves weep. For a moment, he felt much younger, and unashamed of his fears and worries. The Boy Who Lived was a fiction of the press, and Harry Potter, who was nothing more than a deeply troubled young man, was completely present.

“I do…I do, Molly. I’m sorry! God, I’m sorry! He’s so much to me…everything…and he needs to know that. I didn’t mean to…to lose my temper. Just…when he was hurt…and I knew who hurt him…it was like I wasn’t even there…I just shut down. The next thing I knew I was…I was there…in St. Mungo’s…and I was staring at Fenton…and I wanted to make him hurt…I wanted to kill…so badly I could almost taste it. I did it. I burst a vessel in his head, and just left like it was nothing. He wasn’t casting curses, he wasn’t armed, he was just laying there…and I killed him. You…you’ve covered for me…and so has Ron…and Arthur…and Draco….and I acted like it was what I was due. I’m sorry, Molly. Please tell me you forgive me. Please?”

Harry choked the words out, buried in Molly’s shoulder, feeling a dam had broken inside of him.

“It’s alright, Harry. Never you worry for us. When we lost our Ginny, you were there for us…and when Ron lost Hermione, you looked after him like he was your own brother. Harry, love, I want everything for you that I’d want for my own children. I want you to be happy, and I know I’ll never see that with you on the course you’ve chosen. Of course you’re forgiven, love. We love you too much to let you go, but you have to fight this. Not for us…for you. For Draco. Don’t promise, don’t try…just do this. I know you have it in you. Fight this with the strength I know you have in you, love.”

Molly pulled away, stroking Harry’s cheek, wiping away a stray and bitter tear. The young man that had blended into their lives so seamlessly was in pain, and she could do nothing less than offer every comfort she could. Harry breathed deeply, calming himself, unused to this intensity of emotion, and decidedly unused to showing it.

“Thank you. I…I didn’t mean to…like this…well. I should go upstairs and shower. I…uh…I need to clean up before they get here.”

“Of course, love. Go on. Supper will be ready just after Draco and Arthur get home. I should have it ready just in time for Snape’s arrival. Thank you for helping straighten out the rooms today. Took the work right out of it, having you here did. Now go on ahead and see to yourself, dear. We’ll make a good night of this yet.”

“Aye…okay.”

Harry sheepishly headed upstairs, still finding it hard to believe he’d gotten those things out. A shower set him right, clearing away the last evidence that he’d broken down at all, and he found himself calmer than he’d thought he could manage, with Snape soon to come calling. Molly was right. Draco needed to believe in someone that wouldn’t turn cruel, wouldn’t terrify with their power, even if they didn’t use it on him. Harry wanted to be that man…whatever it took.

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The restless spirit that dwelt within him was not blind and senseless. Its oily presence was nowhere and everywhere, but its influence was limited by its bodiless lethargy and weakness. It knew itself well, and it also knew well the feelings of rage and discontent, hatred and the fire of wrath. It did not know, nor did it like, the feelings of affection, warmth, and that cursed thing…that folly of so many…love. The creature that hid in Harry’s soul had little beyond raw power…which Harry directed and controlled, but it could push in its own away…subtly shift the realm of emotions, trigger reactions in the land of dreams, and it would fight back with all it had, lest it lose its host. It was a matter of life and death…and death held no appeal.

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Severus Snape stood before his Floo, bags packed, supplies ready at hand. It was time to leave, and with a little luck, he might find work in England when this task was done, always assuming that a certain scar-headed adolescent didn’t bollix up the works and doom the world. So much effort, so much sacrifice, and for what? To be exiled from his home, only to return when Potter’s arrogance had made the boy a house for the Dark Lord that was supposed to have been dispatched?

‘Someday. Someday I will have the peace and quiet I so richly deserve…and there will be no more of this nonsense. No distractions, no concerns, and most of all, no insipid brats mewling about their traumas…but not today. Today…today I am going to…the Burrow…and I will see this drama to its end before I’m done.’

Severus made his peace with the mess that he was surely walking into, and stepped into the chimney with powder in hand. Disgust rolled off of his tongue when he said the fateful words that whisked him away in a blast of green fire.

“The Weasley Burrow.”

And then he was gone, and the Stuttgart flat that had been his home in exile sat quiet and empty. Severus Snape was going home, and come what may, he meant to remain.

TBC!!!