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 54: Once Upon A Time…

“Once upon a time…”

“Oh, please.”

“Shut it, Potter! It’s my story, and I don’t care if it’s clichéd. I’ve never told one before, and this is the way I got told stories when I was little, so suffer in silence…prat!”

“Sorry, love. Go ahead. I promise I won’t interrupt again.”

“Okay. Once upon a time, there was a little boy who believed in things. He believed that his mother was the most beautiful and gracious woman who had ever existed, that there was no one more powerful or magnificent than his father, and that the entire world was obviously made to make him happy, because that was all it had ever done. He lived in an amazing mansion, and played in gardens that stretched for miles. Other families brought their children to play with him, and everyone treated him with respect because his family was so well loved. At least, that’s what he thought.

One day his family invited many guests to their home, and the children played in the garden. It was the little boy’s birthday. Seven is a magical number, a lucky number, and a wonderful age to be. Of the children that came to the boy’s party, one was the boy’s favorite. He liked that boy’s hair, which was exceptionally dark, and his smile, which was very pretty. A group of the children went deeper into the garden and sat in a circle to play a game. It was one of those games that wound up with children kissing each other, and the little boy didn’t mind the idea of kissing his friend at all. Actually, he thought there could be nothing more normal than kissing someone he liked so much. He couldn’t have known any better.

His father appeared just as the boy kissed his friend, and before the little boy knew what was happening or why, he was carried away and taken back to his room in the mansion. His father was almost too angry to speak, and when he finally spoke he was yelling. He pulled the shirt from the little boy’s back and thrashed him with his cane. Everything changed after that.

The little boy knew only that he was not perfect, and that his father was capable of being very cruel, and that his family would only love him if he didn‘t make any more mistakes. There were endless lectures year after year about ‘proper masculine behavior’ and ‘duty to one’s heritage’ and ‘honoring one’s ancestors’. His father and mother watched over him constantly, looking for any sign of whether he might disappoint them again. The little boy understood perfectly. What he’d done was sick and wrong and evil. His parents had said so, and they couldn’t be wrong. He was too young to know any better.

He studied magic, learned to ride a broom while his friends were only just picking up wands, and pushed himself as hard as he could to make his parents happy, but he always felt like they were waiting for him to fail. They spoiled him with gifts when he pleased them, but whenever they thought he might be anything but what they expected, he was punished.

He went to the school his parents had attended, and he was sorted into the house that his parents had been schooled in. He only saw them during the holidays and summers, but he learned to keep his secrets in school and out of it. He tried to be proud on the outside, because he was terrified on the inside. In that house, weakness was the only sin, and the other children were very cruel when other children left themselves vulnerable. The boy had allies, but he couldn’t trust them. He had servants, but he had no friends. He had money, and influence, and a powerful reputation, but he had nothing else. He constantly tried to remind himself that he was better than others. Because of his heritage, because of his looks, and because of his talent for magic. It wasn’t enough.

He always knew that he was weak. He was afraid of losing, he was afraid of his father and mother, and he was afraid of others hurting him for what he truly was.

There was one boy even more well known than the first. This boy had dark hair that never did what it should, and bright green eyes. He was said to be very powerful at magic, and people claimed that he had a great destiny. Anyone who took the limelight away from the first boy was an immediate threat, and he responded accordingly. He tried everything he could to show that he was better, more talented, and more powerful than the new boy, but it made no difference at all. No matter what he did, the other boy was a hero. Not to everyone, but to enough people that it was obvious to all. Awards and trophies and fame just fell into that hero’s lap. Not because he wanted them, but because events always conspired to pull him in and make him a part of every great deed that could be done.

One day, an evil that had been thought destroyed returned. The first boy’s father was chief amongst that power’s servants, and he wasted no time in indoctrinating his son. In truth, he’d started years earlier, explaining the worth of the pure-blooded, and the inherently detestable nature of Muggles. There would be no fame or glory for that boy while the current powers remained in charge, and this new power offered change, and a place high in his service, as well as the respect of all who followed him…for a price.

The boy wanted to please his father. He wanted to be looked at with awe and respect. He wanted to make a place for himself in a world where no one would look at him as weak or frightened. He should have known better. He allied himself with a Dark power, willingly enough at first, but he’d had no idea how much it would hurt, or what it would be like after.

His father was captured while in the Dark Lord’s service, and was sentenced to Azkaban. His family name was disgraced in the eyes of both sides of a conflict that was quickly getting bigger than he’d ever imagined, and people everywhere looked at him with suspicion and contempt. A mission was assigned to him. He knew it was almost impossible to succeed, but he had no choice but to agree to it. The Dark Lord had set his servants near the boy’s mother at all times. With a word, he could have her killed at his pleasure. She would die if he failed, and the boy himself would suffer unimaginably if he were caught after failing. He stalled for time, trying things that kept his master believing that he was doing his best, and that success was near at hand, but in truth, he was barely able to understand what he was doing. It was easier when he didn’t think about it…didn’t think of what might happen if he actually did succeed. He kept his mind on his task and did as he was told.

His mentor at school, the one instructor he admired most, tried to gain the boy’s confidence, offering to help, and trying to find a way to arrange for the boy’s safety, but there was no trust in either of their hearts. That was just the way they were trained to be. There was more pressure than ever on the boy to succeed, and the few communications he received were always laced with subtle threats, a constant reminder that his mother’s life was hanging on the completion of his task. It was almost more than he could take and stay sane.

Only one person ever saw the boy break down…the boy he hated for being everyone’s hero. The one person he’d tried to prove he was stronger than…was the only person who saw the boy crying, at his weakest. He tried to curse that boy out of blind hate and embarrassment, but the other boy was faster, and more ruthless. It was fortunate that the boy’s mentor wasn’t far away, or he’d have died right there. If he’d known what was coming, he would have wished for just that.

Everybody knows the rest of the story. What the boy did, and what happened because of him, the people he hurt. There was one thing that nobody ever knew, and nobody ever asked. In that bathroom, when he was caught crying because he was going to fail, and because he was afraid, he wanted one thing so desperately that it was tearing him apart inside. He wanted a friend he could trust, or someone he could believe in. Something…anything to believe in. When he saw the face of his rival, looking sorry for him, he snapped. But what he really wanted to do was…was…ask for help.”

Harry had listened in silence, aware of the way Draco’s arm tightened around him at odd moments, and of how Draco’s voice had grown quieter and softer as the story had reached its end. Mostly, Harry was lost in the magic of Draco’s perspective. He had never stopped to imagine what it must have felt like to walk in Draco‘s shoes, or what pressures Draco had been under. In a way, despite the money and luxury, Draco’s childhood had been as empty and terrible as his own.

Draco’s voice was a little hoarse, as much from emotion as from the length of his story.

“Harry. I’m still afraid of things. Afraid that what I’m doing is wrong, or that I’ll make a bad choice and other people will pay for it. Sometimes I know exactly what I want, but I never know if I’m right for wanting it. I know one thing, though. I don’t want to be alone again. Not anymore. Even if trying to be with you is wrong, then I want to be wrong forever.”

Harry curled his fingers around the hand that was on his chest, pulling it up to his mouth, and kissed the center of Draco’s palm, eliciting a small gasp of surprise behind him.

“There’s nothing wrong with being afraid, love. It’s called common sense. It’s how we stay alive. I can’t tell you how many times I nearly pissed myself fighting Voldemort. Believe me, you aren’t weak. It isn’t about being afraid…it’s about getting things done anyway, and you do that better than anyone I know. I’ve got every good reason to love you. Believe in that. And…believe that you won’t be alone that way again. Not anymore. That’s something I can promise you.”

Draco sighed with a heavy shudder, relaxing completely behind Harry. Who knew? In another day or two, perhaps he could manage to be the one in Harry’s arms instead of vice-versa. As it was, Harry's words were a relief to him, and he felt oddly better for having gotten just a few fears off his chest. There would be more. Some he meant to speak of with Molly, and others with Snape alone, but if this was how good it felt to loosen just a few burdens, he could only imagine what it would be like to carry but a few.

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Far from Ottery St. Catchpole and the Burrow, and far from Draco and Harry, events were moving of their own accord, unseen and unknown, out of sight, out of mind.

Rodolphus LeStrange sipped his wine and turned to his assistants, grimacing slightly at the bloody bundle of rags at MacNair’s feet.

“Hmmph. Really, MacNair. Couldn’t you at least have cleaned the tarp we used last time? Pathetic. It’s just as well that we’re leaving this malodorous dump behind. I believe it’s time to make our way back to London proper, don’t you?”

Hyde-Pratt smiled while MacNair just grunted assent.

“Hyde-Pratt. Bring the car around. MacNair. Load that rubbish into the trunk. When you’ve finished that, we’ll pack our things and be on our way. The timing is nearly right. If we dispose of this most recent ‘project’ of ours along the way, we can ensure that Mr. Potter is in the proper mood to accept his eventual invitation.”

Hyde-Pratt bowed and left, and MacNair hoisted the bundled corpse of their most recent plaything over his shoulder and stalked off. Rodolphus flipped open a recent copy of The Daily Prophet and flicked through the pages, finally settling on the gossip columns with a toothy smile.

‘How marvelously ironic. My dear little nephew does find his way into the most unusual places. From the embrace of one Dark Lord into the arms of the next. How much sweeter the irony will be when he watches his latest conquest become his new master. Perhaps, if our new lord is feeling gracious, he may even return my much-missed favorite to my care. Ah, Rodolphus. No time for woolgathering. The time for rituals is almost upon us, and we must be ready by the Yule Solstice. It’s time to move again, this time closer to home, and find ourselves one last toy before we rally Mr. Potter to our cause.’

Rodolphus folded the paper and whisked his possessions into trunks with a few waves of his wand. MacNair entered with a satisfied smirk and bowed.

“The car’s ready. Trunk’s loaded. Where to now, boss?”

“Home, MacNair. We’re going home. London, as they say, is a lady, and I miss her dearly. We’ll dispose of our ‘baggage’ along the way, but remember to remain unseen. It isn’t yet time to show our location. Our task is almost complete, but there is just a little more to be done. Let’s be on our way, shall we?”

With that, they were out the door of the dilapidated country house they’d co-opted this past week, and on the roads of England once again. Rodolphus smirked while he mused from the passenger seat.

“They say Death rides a pale horse. Hmmph. If he had any taste at all, he’d have chosen a black Rolls-Royce.”

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Draco had talked himself hoarse before he was finished that night. He’d spoken to Molly in private, and voiced some of his worries over Harry, and over his own future in the Weasley household. Before it was all done, it had been decided that he was genuinely welcome to stay as long he wished. Molly had gone maudlin and wept a little while describing Draco in kind terms that made him blush, and he’d been grateful when she calmed herself, if only because he was already emotionally overwrought as well.

Snape had been a tougher matter, and facing his acid scrutiny while admitting his worst fears about betraying Harry had been grueling. Snape had been unrelenting, even if he had been kinder than usual. He wasn’t accusatory or condescending, but he pushed and prodded Draco to examine feelings he’d rather have left unchecked. The subject of his time of captivity took them hours to cover, and his brief weeks in Muggle London had been terrible to recall. Snape had heard it all. The normally recalcitrant and laconic potions master had made the faintest of grimaces on occasion, which for Snape, meant that he’d been horrified beyond his expectations. At least that was perversely satisfying. It meant that his former mentor at least acknowledged that the emotions that came with Draco’s experiences were as horrifying as the images he’d already seen in Draco‘s mind.

It was past midnight when Draco stumbled back to his room and peeled away his clothes. Harry was already dozing fitfully, despite obviously planning to stay awake until Draco’s return. Draco could tell by the way the sheets were still folded on his side and by the way Harry was propped almost upright by pillows. He pulled on his pajamas quietly, with his back turned to Harry out of modesty.

The sheets were still cool on his side, and the window was faintly rimed with frost. At least Harry had warmed up part of the bed just by being there for the last couple of hours. Draco debated whether he should or shouldn’t move closer, then threw caution and worry to the wind. Tomorrow he would be in no shape to enjoy anything, and his stomach was already rumbling complaints of hunger. He might as well enjoy the one comfort left to him for the next couple of days while he still could.

He turned onto his side facing Harry, and slipped an arm around Harry’s stomach, burrowing his face into Harry’s side, just beneath his arm. Sleep came fast and easy, despite the weighty thoughts he’d endured that day. With the warmth and scent of Harry all around him like a pleasant haze, Draco let the night take him, and his dreams were mercifully fair.

The Burrow’s residents dozed in innocent slumber one and all, while a black Rolls-Royce slid through the English night, fast and sleek, bound for London like hell itself was on its heels.

TBC!!!