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 65: Waiting For The End Of The World

Rodolphus LeStrange sat calmly in a chair, in the center of the circle of symbols he’d so painstakingly drawn upon the floor. He inserted a cigarette into the long filter he kept for special occasions, raised it to his lips, and lit it with a faint wisp of magic. The cigarette was a Russian brand, Sobranie, surprisingly subtle for something made by Muggles. For all he knew, it might well be the last cigarette he ever had. It might also be the last experience he savored before embarking upon a new reality with his revived Lord.

MacNair was in position near the door, waiting impassively. Hyde-Pratt fidgeted nervously, back a bit and to the left. There was but a quarter hour or so left in the old moon, and then the new would come. If Potter did not arrive, they would depart, this effort wasted, but he expected otherwise. Potter didn’t seem the type to disappoint.

He’d waited so long for this. Two years a fugitive, always with his Lord’s last plans in the back of his mind, awaiting fruition at his trusted servant‘s hands. If it worked, if his Lord had been right, and still had the strength, then he would soon stand at his Lord’s right hand, exalted among men for the services he had rendered faithfully. If it failed, well…then it wouldn’t be a concern of his for much longer.

Such was Lord Voldemort’s true genius, that he had even foreseen his potential fall. Chastened by his initial encounter with Potter as a child, he ensured his survival with far greater care than before. His series of Horcruxes had taken great effort to craft, but they had vulnerabilities. To trump even that final possibility of defeat and death, he had entrusted his two most faithful servants with his wisdom. Bellatrix and Rodolphus. Not Malfoy, who bought his freedom with cash and sweet words, or Snape, the traitor that had called himself their spy. Not sniveling Pettigrew and not any of the other blind and simpering idiots that served him. Only his most faithful, most vicious, most deadly servants were entrusted with his final plan, and their directions had been quite specific.

He’d known of Dumbledore’s suspicions regarding his few weaknesses, and he had known of that bitter prophecy. This time, he had intended to remove the weakness before it could strike. Love. They had surrounded that boy with death and suffering, and heaped upon him every loss that they could manage. ‘Build in him a hatred,’ their Lord had instructed, ’so deep that it cannot be unearthed, and he will be mine before we are done.’ They had done just that.

When Potter had attacked that final night, Rodolphus and his wife had fled for safety, carrying their master’s last orders in their hearts. Potter had played his part perfectly, the avenging friend and student, and with darkness and anger guiding his hand, their Lord’s death had been suitable for the making of a Horcrux. Voldemort survived once again, this time leaping the boundary between spirit and flesh, taking root in his living host, his killer, the so-called Boy Who Lived. It was a fine irony, or so Rodolphus thought, but it had some unexpected drawbacks.

Potter had been strong, and while he was full of rage and discontent, there had been some love left in him. Their Lord had not risen quickly to the surface, assuming control of a weaker host. He had possessed influence, and Rodolphus had guessed at it immediately when Potter was reported as having killed Death Eaters under questionable circumstances. Their Lord was safe, but he was not yet the master of Potter.

This had necessitated the execution of his friends, and while it had certainly built in Potter a rage that ran deep, he had never quite lost control and surrendered his spirit to their master. The link between him and Lord Voldemort had always been strong, and Potter had channeled his rage into those who wore his old enemy’s Mark. It mattered not who he killed, only that he did kill, until he’d gotten lucky and tracked down Bellatrix. That had been a loss to their cause. He had separated from his wife only briefly, in the pursuit of their mission, and she had been trailed to their lair. Not that her loss truly bothered Rodolphus that much, but he missed her kittenish madness, and her appreciation for his arts. The woman had always pleased him, in many ways the one person he had been truly comfortable around, an equal in the arts of torment and suffering, and all the more precious for her rarity.

He’d gone underground, staying out of sight for awhile, and had recruited MacNair and Hyde-Pratt to his cause. They were tools and nothing more, but they had their uses. He would need allies other than himself, if this final gambit worked as he hoped. He could force his Lord to the surface, and let him wrest control of Potter once and for all, and in the fusion of their vast powers would a greater power be born. This new Lord would make mere shadows of all who had claimed the title Dark Lord before, and Rodolphus LeStrange would be that new master’s right hand.

Draco had been little more than a way to pass the time, and admittedly the boy was more of a survivor than expected, and fair enough to look upon, which had made the marking of him all the more pleasurable. It was a vexing coincidence that the little brat had made it into Potter’s care, and there was a coincidence at play that Rodolphus did not trust. It scarcely mattered, but he did not like loose ends, and Draco would have to be ‘stitched up’ as it were, at the first available opportunity. Dumping him in London had been an amusing joke, a final irony to match the many others, leaving behind the ruined product of the proudest wizarding heritage in the stinking gutters of the Muggle world. How he’d recovered and found his way to Potter, and lived despite the Mark upon his arm, well…those were questions that Rodolphus might never see answered.

He took a deep drag from his cigarette, and let the smoke curl away softly as he exhaled. It would all be decided in this next quarter hour. One way or another, this world was about to change, and he had been the catalyst. Short of immortality, not a bad legacy to have made for oneself, was it?

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Harry was lacing his boots with careful deliberation, and his trunk was open in the corner. Harry was wearing multiple talismans and other charmed items, as well as weapons that Draco hadn’t seen before. Small knives for throwing, garrote wires, and small explosives that were of Muggle origin, as well as a few items from Fred and George’s shop that were routinely used by Aurors. The knife was out for the first time in weeks, resting on the desktop with an aura of sullen menace. Draco was panicking, breathing hard and fast in the face of this sudden change in Harry. He should be careful, handling Harry when he was like this, but there wasn’t much time. He needed to stall for time…desperately…but how?

“Harry…please! Don’t do this. It’s Solstice. You belong here, with us, not out doing this. Even for them, this isn’t worth it. I don’t care what he said about me. To hell with them. I want you…here…with me tonight. Please!”

Harry’s jaw tightened visibly. His face was a mask of barely contained outrage and fury. If Draco hadn’t been healed by Snape, he’d never have been able to remain in Harry’s presence like this.

“I won’t be long. I want you to go downstairs, be quiet about this while I’m gone, and not make a fuss about this right now. This ends tonight. Then I’ll come home. Understand?”

His voice was curt and controlled, and Draco barely dared to argue with a statement that almost commanded him to be passive. He was too panicked to think clearly. This was happening too fast. Harry was standing up, looking at him, obviously hovering on the edge of just leaving, and Draco had no plan. What to do?!

Draco broke down completely, shaking while tears quickly started to curl down his face. He shook the hand with the ring he’d been given in Harry’s face.

“What about this?! Does it mean anything…at all? I love you! It’s a sickness in you…killing. It’s Voldemort’s influence over you! You have to let this fucking diseased hatred go or it will never be over! Never! Please, Harry! If you love me, if you really love me, fight this! Let it go! You can’t do this! You can’t!”

Voldemort had regained the strength that had been sapped from him, and he’d waited carefully for the proper moment. When his host had read that fateful letter, he’d felt the first flicker of rage, and like a wind upon a burning ember, he brought that spark to life, feeding it until a bonfire of destruction and naked hatred filled his host. It felt glorious, to ride the crest of a wave of coming carnage once again, and when Potter finally broke, he would be there to take control at last!

Harry could feel the rage building higher in him, and it was an effort just to control himself when he was challenged or balked like this. His instincts were at war. On one hand, those who stood in the way of his power deserved to be brushed aside like gnats, or crushed utterly, but on the other hand, this was Draco. It was ripping him apart to endure seeing Draco act this way, but he wasn’t wholly in control of his emotions at the moment. All he could do was grit his teeth, and try to get out of here without hurting the people he loved. He’d save his rage to be vented upon those who deserved it…and he needed to leave…immediately.

“I…have…no…time…for…this.” The words were forced out tersely, while Harry felt his control slipping. “Get out of my way…and get out of it now. I’m leaving, and I will be back. MOVE! NOW! DO IT!”

Draco trembled while his mind screamed for him to run, and in a crazy and impulsive gesture that he couldn’t even remember thinking of, he just snatched the Dampener from Harry’s chest and flung it out the window into the snow. It couldn’t be traced by magic, and Harry had little time, and at the moment, he was just staring in wide-eyed disbelief at what Draco had just done. Draco probably wouldn’t have gotten away with it if it hadn’t been for Harry’s utter shock at what had just happened. The reality of it was slowly creeping in, and Draco wiped his eyes on his sleeve, panting heavily, and took a step back when he saw the look on Harry’s face.

The man he’d called his lover and friend only minutes ago looked like he was ready to erupt in a way that would make volcanoes look inconspicuous. Harry was faintly trembling, and the weird heat that rolled off of him was suddenly overwhelming. It was, metaphysically speaking, like standing next to the sun, and Draco wondered if he would actually burst into flame from being so close to the center of it. A faint tremor began to run through the entire Burrow, and likely the surrounding town as well, and small objects were beginning to rattle and move on desks and stands. Draco saw the faintest flicker of red in Harry’s eyes, and a sudden pain in his arm made him glance downward, yanking his sleeve back. His Mark, the one the Dark Lord had placed upon him, faded now for almost two years, was growing darker and displaying motion for the first time since Voldemort’s death. Very real fear took Draco over completely, and he dropped to his knees spluttering apologies, hoping to pacify whatever was growing in Harry.

“I’m sorry! Please! Forgive me, Harry! I didn’t mean to…I…I wanted you to stay! I love you…I love you…please don’t be angry with me for that. I only want you here…forgive me! I won’t fight this anymore if you just calm down! Please!”

The same force that had once gently carried him upstairs suddenly slammed into him like a whirlwind, lifting him from the floor and pinning him to the wall, clutched in iron bands of magic that prevented movement. The building started shaking more obviously and the voices of the Weasley family could be heard downstairs. Draco hoped that they could stop this, and he prayed that no one would be hurt by what he’d unwittingly triggered. Just as a small vase was about to tumble from the nightstand, and footsteps were clear in the hallway, Harry waved one arm in a short chopping motion…and there was silence. A more complete and total silence than Draco had ever known. The vase that had nearly fallen was hanging in midair, paused in its fall, frozen in time, and so was everything else…except Harry…and Draco.

Harry possessed an icy calm now that was almost more frightening than his rage of seconds ago. He looked like he was fighting to decide his next action, and all Draco could do was hang in the air and struggle pathetically against the bonds that magic had placed around him. His wand was laying beside the bed, but he didn’t dare summon it to him. There was no telling what a challenge like that might trigger from Harry. Harry finally stalked forward slowly, and his voice was a chill hiss of menace.

“You. How dare you?! You think the lack of some trinket will change this? You think I need it? I can break wards on my own. I can tear down buildings, or cities. I could extinguish the sun if it pleased me to do so. I wonder what you think…”

Harry paused, looking cold and calculating, wild-eyed and ruthless. An idea flickered in his mind, and quickly became real.

“What you think…I can see your mind…lay it bare, take what I please. Let us see what lies in your heart.”

Draco was already white as a sheet and shaking, unable to break free, and he tried to plead with Harry, but it was almost hopeless at this point.

“Don’t! Gods, love! Please! Harry! I’m sorry’msorryi’msorry! NO!”

And then his mind was pierced by Harry’s presence, alien and hot with fury, scouring his brain for answers. Every secret was laid bare, every scrap of his plans made clear to the outraged powerhouse in front of him. Seconds later, Draco was flung to the floor violently, and the cool and calculating creature was gone, replaced by a look of stunned hurt and growing wrath. His arm ached, and when he looked up, the eyes of green he treasured were nearly pure red.

“YOU WHORE! YOU FUCKING FILTHY SLUT! I TRUSTED YOU! ABOVE ALL OTHERS I TRUSTED YOU! YOU’RE ALL AGAINST ME! ALL OF YOU! RRRRAAAAGGGHHH!”

Harry stumbled back, clutching his head while Draco collapsed into tears below him, making barely comprehensible pleas. Every fiber of his being demanded blood and death for this offense, but in his heart, a tiny flare of the love he’d known made war against his rage. Panting for breath, teeth gritted, Harry growled out his final edict.

“There…there’s somewhere…I have to be. Get out. If you want your life…take your things and don’t…be…here when I return. No one here will move until I break this spell…only you. Pack…and leave. I have business to attend to.”

Harry grabbed his knife from the desk, and with a muted crack, Harry was gone, and Draco was alone, in a house of silence and enchanted stillness, mourning what his indolence and cowardice had brought him.

‘Oh Gods! Merlin! It happened…it’s happening. It’s him, and he had control of Harry. That can’t be my Harry. It can’t! It’s my fault. I should have told him everything then…when it happened. Maybe he’d have thought I was crazy, but I wouldn’t have been lying to him. I wouldn’t have betrayed him. I made it worse! I made him angry, and I ruined everything. I’m so stupid…and selfish. I just wanted to be happy…I didn’t want to fight with him, or upset him. I did this. I’m weak…I was always too weak. I don’t know why anyone ever thought I could do this! I’ve ruined everything. Everything…’

Draco remained on the floor, sobbing alone in a deathly silent house. When his tears had ebbed, a cruel certainty came to him. He didn’t want to live. Not without Harry. Not with this knowledge hanging over him. He couldn’t bear it. The envelope from his uncle’s letter was on the floor next to the bed. An address stared back at him, taunting him with a final escape. He could go, follow Harry, find him, and risk his wrath. At least he’d die trying, and never have to live with his failure, or what it might well cost the entire world. Draco crawled to the letter, and clutched it to himself, his sides aching from the sobs that had just racked his body. He pulled himself up and took his wand.

Reality came to him as he reached and took the wand into his hand. A hand that wore a ring that Harry had put there. A wand that Harry had seen to the making of. All around him was a life that held Harry, the real Harry, at the center of it. He’d been a fool, and maybe he had been weak, and afraid, but who wouldn’t have been? He didn’t need to die, he needed to find Harry, set this right, and if he lost his life in the bargain, so be it. It was his life, and it had been hell until he’d found this place and these people, and this was worth fighting for.

His rational mind took over, now that Harry was gone and he wasn’t overwhelmed by that towering presence. He needed to get the Dampener from the yard, and quickly. He needed to Firecall out of this house and give this address to the Aurors, and he needed to go after Harry…but how? He was lousy at Apparition and always had been. He couldn’t possibly hope to get it right aiming for an unknown street address in Muggle London. He was sure to splinch himself.

The rings! Wizard rings were spelled against slipping off, spelled to fit, and spelled to aid in finding the other wearer! He could use Harry’s ring to match Harry’s point of arrival! Without the Dampener, Harry could be tracked just like anyone else. Even if he could smash through wards without it, he was no longer hidden from scrying! Draco ran the hall, brushing past Ron and Charlie’s frozen forms on the stairs. The others were frozen in the living room, looking confused, rising from seats or rushing to the stairs, and Draco passed them all, dashing out the door and into the snow.

He conjured light, and illuminated the area beneath the open window from which he’d flung the amulet. He stumbled, shivering and sniffling, through the drifts and clumps of snow, searching frantically for any sign of the artifact that could protect him just a little on this suicidal errand of love. A minute later, the light bobbing above Draco glinted faintly off of silver, and Draco snatched up the thing and ran back to the house.

The Floo roared deafeningly in the eerie silence of the Burrow, and Draco screamed into the Minister’s office as soon as he saw people working late in the flickering firelight.

“HELP! This is Draco Malfoy! Rodolphus LeStrange is behind the killings! Harry has gone to try and stop him! Get everyone you can call in and get to the address on this paper…NOW!!!”

Draco flung the paper through and into the Minister’s office, then yanked himself back and let the Floo whisk out. He was shaking, bleary-eyed, and still dressed in snow-dusted pajamas. He had one of the most mysterious artifacts ever made, and a wand that was a match for any in the world…and he had love. If he’d had only love, he still would have tried, but with these, just maybe, there was hope, and Draco clung to that crazy hope with all his might.

He focused on the ring, trying to concentrate and feel Harry’s presence, and he recited the address carefully in his mind, over and over again. With a soft and muffled crack, Draco Apparated away, and the Burrow waited in pristine silence, patiently waiting for the end of the world…or the beginning of a new one.

TBC!!!