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 55: Changing His Mind

Draco did not wake early from anticipation, nor did Harry. In fact, Molly peeked into their room and noted that they were still sound asleep, Draco curled comfortably in the crook of Harry’s arm, and she chose to leave them be. Harry could always eat a little later, and if Master Snape’s claims were correct, this would be the only time they would have together for at least a couple of days.

Severus Snape drank only a single glass of water before heading back upstairs and opening the door to Draco’s room. The spectacle before him was…unpleasant to say the least. It was unbearably, insufferably, insipidly, atrociously cute. The entire scene inspired immediate nausea, and he hadn’t eaten since morning the day before. None of this improved his mood.

“AHEM! If you will please try to recall that we have something of importance to do today, I should appreciate it greatly if you would separate yourselves, by whatever means are necessary, and make ready for our task. I will return to this door in a quarter hour. Do not make me wait any longer than is absolutely required.”

Harry and Draco both started awake at the withering tone of Snape’s voice, and Draco blushed furiously at the sudden realization that his former head of house had just seen him casually curled around Harry Potter…in bed. It wasn’t an experience he’d ever imagined having, but at least he’d had many an experience that was more frightening than this. All he could manage was a stammered and sheepish apology. Harry, on the other hand, glared at Snape’s departing back in a way that would have peeled the flesh off of a lesser foe. He cooled off in silence when Draco nudged him and slid out of the bed.

“C’mon. This is it. My last day as a fucked-up wreck. You can forgive him anything if he can just make this happen, right? Besides, it’s late and Molly should have breakfast for you. Merlin…I can already smell it! Never mind. I just want to get on with this.”

Harry sighed with resolution. “Yeah. He’s still a greasy git, but I’d walk on fire if it needed doing to get you well. I won’t really see you today…after this. You’ll be locked in here with him. This kind of work takes hours, and I doubt he’d be any faster than I would. At least I know he’ll do his best. Even if it isn’t actually for your sake, he’s too proud of a bastard to do anything less than his finest work.”

Harry fumbled with the sheets and blearily climbed out of the bed, standing and yawning mightily. When his arms stretched their widest, the pajama shirt rode up, exposing a streak of dark and tautly muscled midriff. Draco paused in silence, staring nervously and lustily at Harry’s toned flesh. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen idle glimpses of Harry’s body, but it was the first time he’d felt largely unashamed of looking. Harry blinked and lowered his arms, noticing Draco’s unsteady gaze. Harry looked away nervously.

“I should go change and head downstairs. Snape will be back any minute, early unless I miss my guess, and I’m sure that blacking his eye won’t improve his craftsmanship.”

Draco smirked in spite of himself. Soon, so many things would no longer matter. It was worth one hasty morning, but not before he made a point that had lingered in his mind the night before. He walked around the bed with a confidence in his stride that he didn’t really feel, but at least he made it look real enough.

“He’ll be a minute yet. We have time for this. Tomorrow I’ll be different… and better…but I want you to have this now, before anything changes. Because you know how much it means. I just want you to remember that I wanted you when I was scared, and I’ll still want you after I’m well. I’m not sure I want to change without you knowing that first. Hold still.”

Harry froze while Draco paced toward him, and remained motionless while Draco slid arms around Harry’s waist, tilting his head up to reach Harry’s mouth. Harry’s only response was to lean his head down and meet the lips that were so clearly asking for his attention. Mutual morning breath aside, it was a kiss that would linger in Harry’s memory for many years. It was heavy with promises that didn’t need to be limited by words, and full of hope for days to come.

They parted only when the heavy footfalls in the hall warned that Snape was on his way, and Harry reluctantly left for his room and clothes, still bemused and maundering in the wake of Draco’s voiceless desire for him.

Draco remained in his pajamas. There was no need to dress today. He’d be abed for at least a day after this was over. He did, however, need a trip to the bathroom quite badly. There was no telling how acidic Snape’s comments might be if he found Draco in such an aroused state, pajamas strained outward just below the waist.

Severus waited in Draco’s empty room, listening to the sound of the running shower while he separated herbs and potions, and placed a small charcoal brazier on the nightstand. State of mind was crucial in this exercise, and he had the tools and substances necessary to bring the right mental state into being quickly. He did notice that Draco lingered overlong in the shower, and was further irritated by Potter’s arrival at the doorway.

“Once this begins, there will be no interruptions. There will be no noise, no crowds of milling Weasleys and no conversations of any kind. A break in concentration could easily disrupt what I will be doing, and it is on you to ensure that we remain undisturbed. Have I been clear on this?”

Potter looked smug and contemptuous, which was no surprise, coming from that insolent brat, but the look on his face changed quickly, softening to a sober nod of assent.

“Aye. Consider it done. For Draco. There’s something I should make clear right now, while Draco is busy. I should have said this when you first arrived, but we never really got the chance to chat. I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you. Even so, I had no right to do what I did. You did what you thought was right, and you acted on Albus’ orders. You did what none of the rest of us could have done. I know you tried to keep it from coming to that, too. Draco told me that you even tried to help him. I guess it comes to this. I’ll never like you, for the things you’ve done to me and others, and you and I will never be what anyone would call friends, but I respect you. You’re the only person I know who could have helped Draco, and you came here in spite of every reason not to. Even if this doesn’t work, you tried, and that’s more than we had a right to ask for. Thank you.”

Snape put aside his herbs and bottles, and cleared his throat before addressing the young man before him. Something faintly like a smirk played at the corner of his mouth.

“Hmmph. It would seem that you’ve grasped a few things since your school days, Mr. Potter. I still cannot fathom how anyone could combine humility with such towering arrogance, but that seems typical of the enigma that is Harry Potter. I am not, nor have I ever been, interested or concerned with being liked. I am not here to please people, and the approval or disapproval of others is insignificant to me in the extreme. I am, however, entirely concerned with the careful exercise of my skills, and the appropriate respect due to me for my abilities. If I were to assess the state of my opinion on you, I should say that, as a student, you possessed the subtlety of a draft horse, you lacked even a shred of discipline, and you displayed a complete contempt for anything resembling a rule…and yet…you are not entirely lacking in potential, and you seem to have realized at least a portion of it since those days. You are too impulsive, too rash, and woefully arrogant, but then again, no one is perfect.”

Harry offered a wry grin. The dance of words and subtle but honest barbs aside, they had their understanding between them now, and that would have to do. They were interrupted by Draco, who padded down the hall from the bathroom, clad once again in his pajamas, still toweling his hair dry as he walked into his room. Harry gave a nod to each of them, then strolled downstairs without a word. Draco addressed his former mentor, while seating himself on the edge of the bed.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. What now?”

Snape lit the brazier with a whispered spell, scattering packets of herbs into the mix. Another word of magic and the door closed. The smoke trailed in serpent streams, heavy and yet wispy, filling the room with a strange sweet and bitter aroma.

“Your part in this will be blessedly simple. Lie upon your back and relax. Breathe slowly and deeply. Close your eyes and let your mind drift. The herbs I have burnt are haoma. It will greatly enhance relaxation and make the transition to a meditative state go swiftly. You have been Legilimized before, and so you will feel only what you are used to, but do not let the images that discomfort you cause you to break trance. Relax. Let them come, then let them go. You won’t remember much upon awakening, and I have already set aside potions that will help with the headache to come. The shields will be semi-permanent magical constructs in your mind, and the pressure they initially create will be most unpleasant. Now breathe…slowly and deeply…and we will begin.”

Draco obeyed in nervous silence, pulling in long draughts of incense and air, hoping that the haoma would kick in quickly and steal away his tension. It didn’t disappoint. Before more than a few minutes had passed, Draco was already aware of a faint floating sense of elation and a slight dizziness that wasn’t terribly unpleasant. His mind drifted easily from one notion to the other, flighty and fanciful and, against all odds, he was feeling quite relaxed. Darkness and quiet overtook him easily, and before long he felt as though he was at the bottom of a well, or submerged deep in warm water and looking up toward the light. Visions flickered across his mind’s eye, and faint, feathery touches stroked his mind while he ceased to be aware of more than breathing.

Hyde-Pratt’s offer. Draco’s pathetic gratitude at the prospect of food and company. MacNair’s silent appraisal. Rodolphus’ distant amusement. Pleasure. Pain. Horror. Hopelessness. Bits and pieces flowed and ebbed through Draco’s subconscious, each fading into a soft mist as it passed. Violence. Nausea. Hunger. The ache of a throat run raw by screams. The disgust that came with looking at his own body, feverish red sores and blackened burns. Pus-yellow wounds and puckered grayish-red tissue. The stink of a cell soiled by continual imprisonment next to his own filth. The acrid, peppery sweat-stink that came of being unclean for weeks. His captors’ laughter. MacNair’s grunts of pleasure in the act of rapine. Hyde-Pratt’s sickly giggle while he heated a fresh iron until it glowed red. Rodolphus’ dry tone while peeling away layers of epidermis and muscle, forcing Draco to look at his own wet and glistening viscera. All this and more drifted through Draco’s mind while Severus labored, shuffling each hellish moment behind a curtain of shimmering power.

London. Utter confusion and disbelief. Cold. Biting, bitter cold. Strange faces and hands carrying him to cover. The smell of musty wool and old leather. Beer and greasy food. A basement shelter occupied by young men near his own age. Outrageous clothes of leather and denim, ripped and bedecked with pins and studs. Hair of many colors and styles. Music in the background, loud and raucous. Food, greasy and cold, but edible, and finer by far than anything he’d had in months. Withdrawal pains. Vomit and tears and panicked responses by the others. They’d seen the needle scars on his arms. They brought a needle before the day was out. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Draco did what he had learned well to do. Wordless, automatic, he offered gratitude the way he’d been taught to.

How ironic, that the people he’d fallen amongst were also whores. They hadn’t expected anything much in return, but the silent boy in their midst simply sated the needs of others without complaint or struggle. With warmer clothes he was able to walk the street with the others, who handled introductions and prices for him, while his pretty face and fine blond hair brought immediate attention from gentlemen passers by. The Muggle boys brought different drugs from then on. They called them methadone and antibiotics, and they cut the dosage by a little each day.

The situation didn’t last. The others had collectively acted as pimps for him. A real pimp found out soon enough, despite efforts to keep the daytime location of the strange, quiet boy a relative secret. The others were away. A fist yanking at white-blond locks. Clothing yanked from his body. Not entirely. Just enough to make violation convenient. Familiar pain and horror. The man’s words meant nothing. Draco’s mind woke up, snapping back to reality for the first time in weeks, slashing through the dope-haze that had kept him quiet and peaceful. He had to leave. When it was over, and he was left alone again, bracingly sore and sickened by the sight of himself in the cracked and spotted mirror, Draco took up a pair of shears left by the others and lopped away the long locks of hair that just been used so violently again. He pulled on a few of the strewn bits of clothing that had been left on the floor by others. There were several notes of Muggle currency in his pocket. He stared at the bundle of stained and bloody blankets. If he stayed here, he would suffer this again and again until he died. If he left here, the drugs would wear off completely in another day or two and the pain would be back, hellish and brilliantly bright. There had to be something better than this. Somewhere. The only place he knew well in London was the entrance to Diagon Alley and Platform Nine and Three-quarters. That way lay the future, and here would die the past. Beyond that, he had no plan, but it was all his newly awakened mind could handle. For what it was worth, Draco was going home.

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Harry waited downstairs with Molly, irritable and tense, brimming with mingled hope and anxiety. He’d always been steady as a rock, but today he could see the tremor of his hand when he lifted his cup of tea. Shaky. Edgy. This was hell. Waiting helplessly for Snape to finish. Hours ticked by one minute at a time. Molly tried to distract him with small chores, but they never lasted long, and the noon hour chimed on the Weasley family clock long before Harry heard the creak of the door and footsteps upon the stair. It had been more than four hours since Severus had started, and the man who emerged from the stairs and staggered into the kitchen looked wan and haggard.

“Tea. Give me tea. Now. Please.”

Snape slumped into a chair, looking slightly disoriented and terribly weak. Molly had a cup of tea in his hands a few seconds later, and he gulped it like a man who’d just found water in the desert. Harry was going to ask after the procedure, but Snape held up a hand before he could even open his mouth. The second cup of tea was sipped instead of gulped, and the potions master withdrew a small vial from his pocket and poured it into the cup, swirling the mixture before sipping the rest of it.

“Restorative Elixir. Hard on the stomach unless imbibed with other liquids. I can tell you what you wish to know. It was difficult, but it is done. I cannot possibly explain to you what it takes to shelter more than a year of a person’s life. Traditionally, this discipline is used to heal the mind of a single traumatic event. The death of a loved one. Near death experiences. Things of that ilk. I have never seen a case where a year’s worth of experiences needed shielding. He…Draco…is a most remarkable boy. When he wakes, tonight or tomorrow, he will endure a headache of truly legendary proportions, but he will live. I will inspect my work then, and again before I leave.”

Harry’s questions were answered, and it was plain enough for him to see that Snape had exhausted himself on Draco’s behalf. Even with tea and a potion, the man was still pale and shakier than Harry had ever seen him. Molly whispered quietly, respectful of Severus’ condition.

“Thank you for what you’ve done here. Draco well deserves a chance at a better life, and you’ve helped him on the way to one. If there is anything we can do for you, don’t you ever hesitate to ask it of us.”

Harry nodded agreement quietly. Whatever his personal opinion of the man, Severus Snape had done a kindness that merited respect, and Harry felt indebted. Not that he’d let Severus know that, since the man would only mock sentimentality, but the feeling was there just the same. Severus looked up wearily.

“I might consider myself well recompensed if…you could perhaps make something in the way of a late breakfast. Then, I think I shall retire to my room, where I will collapse for the next twenty-four or so hours.”

There was a ghost of a smirk on Severus’ face, but an eyebrow arched with surprise when Harry joined Molly in the making of a meal just for him.

’A day in Draco Malfoy’s mind, welcomed and thanked by Weasleys, and Potter is serving me breakfast like a house-elf. Perhaps I should check and see if I’m not still upstairs and unconscious, dreaming on the floor of Draco‘s room. Will the surrealism ever cease?’

And despite his expectations, in spite of a headache, Severus Snape had a very good meal.

TBC!!!