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 63: Dreams Of Days To Come


The day before the Solstice might easily have been called a truly good day. Draco woke late, and Harry was resting peacefully behind him, curled comfortably and rather protectively around Draco, which suited Draco’s mood perfectly. He’d coaxed two more rounds of sex from Harry the night before, and each had been an improvement over the one before it. His body had relaxed, accommodating the fullness of Harry’s cock with greater ease, and that had allowed him a certain level of comfort with which to experiment and find ways to please himself.

Harry had been all hands, and had been perfectly comfortable remaining on his back while Draco took the initiative, but his one stroke of genius had been lubricating his hand and slickly wanking Draco off. The combination of feeling Harry inside of him, hard and thick and perfectly shaped, and a firm and slick hand around his only just recently sated cock had been as much as Draco could handle. It had been a fortunate thing that Draco had possessed enough foresight to spell the room for silence before Harry had brought him upstairs, otherwise the ghoul in the attic would have been deafened by the noises Draco made when he came.

It was at that point, just after Draco had shakily spilled his seed onto Harry stomach…again, that Harry had brought his hips into play rather daringly, thrusting slowly into Draco from below, while Draco had just dizzily snogged Harry’s neck and recovered. They hadn’t really ‘separated’ at all, until much later. Draco had just pleasured himself a third time, and was too exhausted to do more than grind gently on Harry’s lap, which was just enough stimulation for Harry to finally let go for a second time and rut softly into Draco from below until his final release into Draco stole away his rational mind and left him a shuddering mess.

There had been hushed words, fervent and truthful. Quiet statements of adoration and murmured words of affection. Harry’s wandless magic had cleaned them both with a few uttered words, and they had curled together, snogging sleepily, hesitant to let slumber bring this night to an end. So much activity had taken its toll, and they had slept the night through and run well into the late morning before Draco had peeled an eye open to survey the new day‘s light through the window.

He was immediately aware of Harry’s closeness, which was delicious, but he was also aware of a burgeoning need to use the bathroom, and of a very noticeable tenderness in his nether regions. What set it apart from past encounters was that it didn’t truly ’hurt’ per se, but rather burned, the way one’s knee might if one had skidded to a halt on a carpeted floor. There was a gnawing emptiness as well. He felt hollow, shaky and incomplete, as if without Harry inside of him he wasn‘t entirely whole. It was more than a little disconcerting to feel that clingy and needy despite Harry being snugly wrapped around him, but it was also kind of pleasing in its own right.

He’d got the storybook fairytale. It was all his. Harry was getting better fast. He had a family that, even if he was not a child of their own, loved him, cared for him, and accepted him completely. He had a job where he was respected for his abilities, and he had friends that would help him or talk to him when he needed them. And he had love. Tomorrow he would celebrate the Solstice surrounded by love, and it would be the first time he could say that such a thing was utterly true. It was a very good day.

It took a bit of effort to wake Harry, who was sweet but sluggish in the morning, especially after all that Draco had coaxed from him the night before. A few hasty kisses and he’d been up and fetching a bathrobe for his journey down the hall, while Harry’s bleary eyes still registered appreciation at the brief sight of Draco’s naked body. Draco was sure he would never get tired of that look.

He was thankful that Harry hadn’t been in the bathroom with him, as they had done a few times this past two weeks. Their closeness had grown to the point where nudity was meaningless between them, and mutual showers had been a happy and exhilarating expression of that change. This time, however, was an occasion for privacy, since Draco quickly discovered that he had not only a bladder that ached for release, but a very sudden and desperate need to release the fluids that Harry had left deep inside of him the night before. His face positively flamed over the entire matter until well after he’d finished and showered. It was a little gross, and more than a little embarrassing, to be reminded in the harsh light of morning that, the night before, he’d taken that much into him. The romanticism of the act had blinded him to the realities, and it was sobering in the extreme to be reminded of that reality first thing in the morning. That aside, the day only improved as it went along, and Draco enjoyed himself thoroughly.

Since the boys had been asleep quite late, Molly had made a light breakfast for herself and Arthur, and waited until later to make an early lunch, putting out food for soon to be arriving family members as well. In ones and twos, Weasleys began to arrive. Percy appeared first, chipper and excited to be home again, but still fretting over matters left unresolved at his office for the holidays. Then came the twins, dressed down and looking more like the scruffy hooligans they’d been in school. It was hard to tell that they were among the wealthiest merchants in Diagon Alley when one saw them trading jibes with their brother and Harry.

Ron Flooed in, and made a beeline for the table with food on his mind as always, quick to load his plate before his brothers devoured his favorites, and Charlie and Dula weren’t far behind. Last came Bill and Fleur, almost inseparable even at the table, doting upon each other just as they had when they first met. Draco managed to hide his blush when Ron mentioned aloud that Harry and Draco were little better than Bill and Fleur in that department. He promised himself revenge later, preferably in the form of a truly humiliating hexing, and let the chuckles and chortles of others slide by for the moment.

Harry was in good spirits too, and no one begrudged them the way they looked to each other often or seated themselves beside each other at the newly expanded Weasley table. Molly had rarely looked so supremely content, and despite the dull roar of chatter going on, the Burrow had never seemed so joyful.

Bill and Fleur captured the entire house’s attention with the impromptu announcement of Fleur’s recent pregnancy. At long last, Molly and Arthur would be grandparents, and the remainder of the family would collectively become uncles. Nothing could have raised the spirits of those assembled any higher than that, and only Harry noticed that Draco was often silent that afternoon. Eventually, Harry cornered Draco while clearing the kitchen, when Molly nipped into the living room to deliver tea. They were helping to wash and rinse the dishes and cutlery when Harry gently prodded Draco about his reticence.

“So quiet, love. Something’s eating at you. I can tell. You’re as welcome as anyone here…what’s wrong?”

Draco winced slightly. The reason he’d looked a little uncomfortable at the table had been because sitting still made his bum smart, but he’d rather have chewed off his own arm than admit THAT. Instead, he just blurted out what had been gnawing at him since then. At least he trusted Harry implicitly enough to share this.

“It’s…it’s Bill. I can’t stop looking at his face. I might as well have put those scars there myself. I let that fucking maniac do that to him. I…”

Harry stopped him cold with a look and a gesture. “Don’t even start thinking that. Bill’s a good fellow, and he knew you were here. Molly is forever passing owls back and forth. They knew when you showed up here, and they probably knew within a couple of days when you were invited to stay here. If Molly thought for a minute that there was any bad blood, she would have talked to the both of you by now. You’d know if he was angry. Believe me, he’s not. All that stuff is done and gone. Tonight, this is your family, so take a few breaths, relax, and just say whatever you like to anyone you want. Got it, love?”

Draco soaked in the reassurance, smiling at Harry while he dried off another dish. They both had wands, and yet doing at least part of this the Muggle way had become a ritual. Draco tilted his head up and kissed Harry on the mouth. At least they had a moment’s privacy for that.

“Oy! Bloody hell! Do you two ever quit? Give me one of those pot scrubbers…I have to open my skull and scrub that memory out of my brain.” Ron’s amused tone made a lie of his protests, but Draco still pursed his lips and scowled.

“That shouldn’t take long…except the part where you try to FIND your brain!” He stuck his tongue out for emphasis. “Blow me, Weasley!”

“Hah! Tough luck, Ferret-boy! These lips are for ladies only. Once they go Weasley, they never go back!”

“Yeah? That’s only ’cause the ones that recover from the syphilis usually hang themselves from shame!”

Ron grinned evilly. “Okay. That’s it. The gauntlet has been thrown down. There’s a snowball fight in the yard in one hour, and I’ll be pelting you until there’s nothing left for Harry to snog but a giant icicle. That is, unless you haven’t got the nerve to back those words up?”

Draco gave his wickedest smirk. Slytherin snowball fights had been legendary for underhanded tricks. “You’re on. Prepare to eat icy death! I’m getting my coat as soon as we’re done in here.”

In the end, the lines were drawn and sides chosen, and Draco wound up with Percy, Dula, Harry and Bill, while Ron took Fred, George and Charlie and Arthur. Outright warfare broke out on the snow covered lawn of the Burrow, and more than a few spells were surreptitiously cast, despite the unspoken implication that it was to remain a snowball fight. Bending of the rules took many forms, such as Fred and George’s famous charm for making themselves appear just a few feet to one side of their actual location. This made hitting them quite hard until Harry started using wandless spells to launch barrages of snowballs at the same time, peppering whole areas with flying balls of slush and fluff. The situation only escalated from there.

Draco finally cursed Ron with what he’d hoped was a subtle hex that made him attract snowballs in flight, rendering him an easy target. It would have been subtle, except that Draco’s wand made the spell powerful enough that even Ron couldn’t fire off a snowball without it swinging back in mid-flight and zipping after him. Before another five minutes had passed, every snowball in the yard was chasing Ron like a hive of outraged bees, and while he was thoroughly distracted, victory was claimed by Draco when Ron’s own teammates abandoned him because his presence put them at risk of being pelted by the horde of airborne snowballs that followed Ron everywhere.

Of course, Draco might have been a gracious winner. Might have. Draco did restrain himself to a single, brief, public victory jig, and a complimentary winner’s snog with Harry.

Hot chocolate was the order of the day, and as the valiant and fallen both trudged inside, Draco felt a great deal better about his standing in the midst of the Weasley family. The day passed with cheery chatter and good food, and Draco was more than comfortable. There were games of wizard chess that were absolutely epic, with Ron crushing all comers, including Draco, until Arthur soundly trumped his son in a few dozen moves, proving once and for all that he was still the undisputed Burrow chess champion. Molly was in her element, completely surrounded by her children and alternately chiding or feeding them, and Harry looked as at home and content as Draco had ever seen him.

Bill was speaking of his work for Gringotts, and Draco finally edged his way into the conversation when Harry made mention of Draco’s skill with numbers. Between the snowball fight and the ice-breaking over their similar skills, Draco finally relaxed and joined the conversation fully. It seemed that Fleur was three weeks pregnant, and it was owed to a work related journey to Greece, which they had treated as a sort of working vacation. At some point during their stay she had conceived, and they were giving serious thought to picking a vaguely Greek name for their child just to honor the occasion. Fleur and Bill had been a perfect match from the day they’d met, and despite the brief engagement that had scandalized Molly then, their marriage had been happier than anyone could have hoped for.

In somewhere around eight or nine months, the first new Weasley child in almost two decades would be born, and it felt like a new era was being ushered in by that knowledge. The war was really over, and a generation that had never heard of Voldemort was being brought into the world, one at a time, slowly filling in the empty places in hearts and homes around the wizarding world. Someday the war would be nothing more than a history lesson taught by Professor Binns, and likely snored through by half the students at that. Perhaps there were lessons learned that shouldn’t be forgotten, but the people who had lived it were looking forward to a long spell of peace and quiet, and if that meant letting the past slip away into obscurity, so be it.

Games were played and maudlin songs sung, and a vast Yule log was set afire that evening, meant to burn long enough so that its last coals carried the fire into the new year to come. Molly’s feast that night had half-emptied her larder, and the table groaned beneath the weight of the food placed upon it. For a boy who had grown up in a huge mansion, careful not to make noise or break anything, and who had sat at the end of a long table, dozens of feet from his parents (when they dined with him at all), being elbow to elbow in a house full of outspoken and festive Weasleys was a major culture shock.

There was much merriment and abundant good cheer, and Draco was very full and very tired before the evening wound down. He’d spoken to every person present at least a few times, and felt that he’d both met the requirements of etiquette and enjoyed himself at the same time. He was sleepy enough that, for once, sex wasn’t on his mind when he and Harry headed upstairs for their room. There was a thorough snog that roused Draco’s libido briefly, but not so much so that he wished to put off sleep. Besides, there was always tomorrow, and when the Burrow was just a little quieter, he would take his time and enjoy a proper shagging from Harry again.

Anticipation of just that floated through Draco’s drifting mind as he slipped into slumber, still reveling in the knowledge that Harry was there to please him, and vice versa, and a lifetime of opportunity for such things lay open before him like a wide and shining road to paradise. Draco slept as peacefully as the child he’d once been, though far removed from his childhood, and occupied by very different thoughts that, even in the most generous of terms, couldn’t have been described as innocent.

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Under the light of a fat and impassive moon, three black-cowled men sat around a circle of blood, eldritch symbols and lighted candles placed strategically around them. Each bore a small knife, and chanted rhythmically, invoking black powers to their cause. The knives flashed, and their blood joined the blood that made the circle. Each had opened their veins for their cause, each cutting themselves open where a faded Mark had once shone upon their arms.

Rodolphus LeStrange led them in their dark litany, focused entirely on the spell that he was casting. Their master had given them power, bound them to him, tying them immortally together to wax or wane as one with him. Now they gave that power back. Their rightful lord would need to be stronger if he were to rise this coming eve, and they gave what little power they had willingly, in exchange for the hope of a future at his side once again.

When the ritual was complete, there were no words between them, as the plan was already understood. In the dead of night, shrouded by spells, they left their final victim where all would see the work that they had wrought. The boy’s body was hung by the ankles like a martyr, left at the London entrance to Diagon Alley. Before they left, Rodolphus uttered a final spell, leaving a calling card the world had once learned to fear.

The Dark Mark hung in the sky above London once again, and all who witnessed it felt dread in their hearts, for it heralded the return of evil times. The man who had cast it returned to his lair, and penned a missive to be sent the next day. It was written in a steady and elegant hand, the script as neat as that of a clerk of ancient times. It wouldn’t have done to be hasty or sloppy in the writing of it. This was an invitation, and it was an invitation that would change the world. After all, a man had to think of posterity, didn’t he?

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At first weak and sluggish, the beast that slept in Harry’s breast flickered to life as new energy fed it, flooded it with vitality it hadn’t known since it had walked the earth in a body of its own. The spirit roared to life, latching hold of the sleeping mind that harbored it, and struck deep, extracting vengeance for the indignity it had suffered at the hands of its unwitting host.

Harry woke in the night, blinded by the pain in his scar. His dreams had been more terrible than any before and had left him sweating and cold. He’d seen laid before him a world in ruins, ashen and gray in the aftermath of destruction, the bodies of the fallen everywhere to be seen. On a vast throne carved from the bones of the fallen, a black-robed lord sat brooding, supplicants bowing at his feet, and when that terrible master’s head had lifted, Harry had seen a face that chilled him to the bone and wakened him with a stifled scream upon his lips. The face had been his own.


TBC!!!