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 66: Beautiful Screams

On a dimly lit street in a warehouse district of Muggle London, Harry Potter Apparated into place, just a few dozen feet from the building he was soon to enter. Whatever he‘d originally intended, only death would satisfy the black and ugly rage that filled him now. He would heap upon these men the whole of his hideous anger, and in many ways they had been responsible for it. The sting of betrayal still burned in him. Molly had schemed alongside Draco, who had conspired with Snape and Dula and even Dumbledore’s portrait. There had been talk of ‘containing’ him…as if they could!

He’d been a weak-hearted fool to let these strings of love attach themselves to him, and now he needed to shake them free, once and for all. For this pain he felt, someone needed to pay…and in the building in front him, three black and fetid souls waited to be extinguished, removed from this world forever, but first…first he would make them suffer, and their suffering would be a sweet, sweet music to him.

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Rodolpus whispered softly, and in the quiet of the warehouse, the others heard him.

“He’s here.”

It was a minute to midnight. The wards were already buckling under a massive assault, and Anti-Apparition wards had been put up around the entire block. He rose from his seat, whisked the chair out of his way, and ground his cigarette out beneath his foot. He stood calmly, wand in hand, in the center of the circle of arcane symbols, while the others waited nervously, poised for action.

The door at the front of the room simply exploded, brick edges, mortar, plaster and wood scattering quickly, and a dark shadow could be seen behind the cloud of dust, a shadow that moved in quickly, faint glints of red barely visible through the haze. Rodolphus privately rejoiced. Their Lord was very near the surface! It couldn’t have worked more smoothly if he’d overseen Potter’s every move himself!

MacNair opened fire immediately, blasting out curses in his own ham-fisted way. The sinewy figure in black flickered and vanished inexplicably. An illusion of some kind? Then, just a few feet from MacNair, as the one image vanished, the real was revealed, and Potter was wielding not a wand, but a knife, and a large one at that. His movements were spare, calculated and involved no waste of effort. MacNair was taken by surprise, and despite the advantage of height and weight, he was no match for the swift and ferocious attacker that was upon him.

Hyde-Pratt was panicking, throwing hexes into the mix, but they slid off Potter’s shields and wards like melting butter. Rodolphus watched calmly, motionless while Potter struck like a starving tiger, shredding his way through MacNair’s defense easily. Several feints and small cuts to confuse and distract, and at the first opening of worth, a single deep and low slash that opened MacNair’s belly like an overripe fruit. Glistening coils slid free, falling from MacNair’s hasty and fumbling grasp, while the man cried out in shock and alarm. His hands were lowered for the task of holding his own guts in, and Potter’s next slash neatly opened the jugular, blood spurting bright and sharp into the air. MacNair didn’t even have time to fall before the hilt of that black blade thunked wetly into his forehead, the tip of the knife erupting, gore-drenched, from the back of his skull.

Potter kicked the man dismissively, and the body of MacNair tumbled off of his blade and slumped to the floor. Hyde-Pratt was still flinging useless spells against Potter’s shielded form, and the red-eyed man in black slowly turned his attention toward the man who was annoying him with petty spells. Then he smiled.

A blast of pure force flung Hyde-Pratt off his feet and into the air, backward, almost a dozen yards into the far wall. He struck with an impact sufficient to crumble the old brick of the building, smashing half through it, and only two limp legs remained visible, dangling pitifully across the bricks. Faint moaning could be heard.

Rodolphus reveled in this moment. He was truly alive, every nerve afire with readiness for what would come next. The strength of his words would decide if he lived or died, and Potter was only a few yards from being within his grasp. The prize was almost his…he just had to reach out and take it.

“Nicely done, Mr. Potter! What a lovely show you’ve put on! Most impressive! You haven’t disappointed me at all.”

The knife was in his hand, still dripping red from MacNair’s lifeblood, and Potter poised himself for his next assault, grinning with feral amusement while he stalked a few steps forward. His voice was a guttural growl when it came.

“They were appetizers…you’re the fucking main course! You wanted me here? I’m here, and you’re going to regret that invitation in a few seconds…that is, if you can stop screaming long enough to form thoughts.”

Rodolphus grinned like a shark, all teeth and no joy. “Did you ever think, Mr. Potter, that that was precisely what I desired? Perhaps I’m sick of a world in which my Lord has no place. Perhaps I hunger for death. Will you give me what I desire? Can you? Kill me. Kill me as you did my master!”

Rodolphus opened his shirt, exposing his chest, eyes glinting with challenge and amusement.

“I want to die, Mr. Potter, and I want to die by your hands. Kill me…if you dare!”

The lust to kill was overwhelming, and Harry growled out a few final words.

“I can grant that wish…FUCKER!”

He lunged forward, his knife hand back and ready for motion, while the rest of him flew forward propelled by muscle and hate…and then he crossed the line of symbols.

Harry tumbled to the ground, twitching and screaming. The knife skittered back across the floor. His body flexed and arced in weird contortions while fire danced through his every nerve. This wasn’t Cruciatus, but it was felt far deeper. This was a pain purely of the soul. Rodolpus LeStrange took a few quiet steps and knelt next to the writhing body in front of him. He spoke firmly but with a faintly worshipful tone of awe.

“It hurts, doesn’t it, Mr. Potter. You must be wondering why. The line you crossed is a Soul Line. Old magic, the kind that children such as you rarely study these days. Inside this barrier, you must confront your own true soul. Some might expect that a man such as I could not bear to be inside such a thing, but they would be wrong. You see, I am perfectly at peace with what I am, and thus I am quite comfortable here. You, however, carry two souls, and you are most definitely not at peace with what you are.

You may not think so at the moment, but it is my desire to help you reconcile this little matter. It will hurt. Oh, yes…it will hurt, just as the birth of a child brings pain to the mother, but from that pain will be born something greater. I hope you’ll remember that while I help you along your way. Traditionally, I loathe the crudity and unoriginality of Cruciatus, but I’m afraid it is the most comprehensive of pain-inducing spells available, and it suits my purpose now. You need pain, Mr. Potter. You must suffer for us all, and when all hope is gone, you will be ready for him.

Can you feel him? Have you felt his majesty and power beating in your own breast? Or have you remained utterly unaware all this time? It matters not. In a few seconds, you’ll know him quite intimately. Farewell, Mr. Potter, and give my best to our new Lord before you go.”

Rodolphus leaned close while the young man in black shook and groaned in agony, mouth agape in a silent rictus of pain. Rodolphus leveled his wand carefully, and whispered the word like a benediction.

“Crucio.”

And Harry’s world descended into an inchoate hell of anguish and suffering. His scream was cut off when the pain rendered his vocal cords insufficient for expression, and only muted noises slipped from him while his body spasmed violently upon the floor. Darkness slipped over Harry’s vision, and consciousness slid away, replaced by a silent and strange place of the mind, an empty void where nothing mattered, and he was alone. And then there was another, and that presence was dark and smug, with a voice like oiled silk. A voice he knew well in memory, but never thought he’d hear again.

“Ahhh, my dear, little Harry. It’s been some time hasn’t it?”

Standing before him, while Harry was flopped upon the ground in exhaustion, was Voldemort. This night wasn’t turning out at all like he’d expected, and frankly, Harry had been pretty sure it couldn’t get any worse. Until now.

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Kingsley Shacklebolt was on the way back from the loo. He’d been up since well before dawn, owed to the panic caused by the Dark Mark and the latest London killing. So far they had no suspects and no real leads, except the firm knowledge that this crime was perpetrated by yet another rogue Death Eater. It was a bloody disaster, and the faint illusion of safety that the public enjoyed had been shattered. The press had gone into a feeding frenzy, spouting off wild theories that ranged from Voldemort’s return to Harry Potter as the new Dark Lord responsible for every killing since the war ended, and they had butchered Kingsley as incompetent and completely out of touch with the situation. He’d had Aurors working around the clock since dawn, and frankly he was just damned tired.

In the hall on the way to his office, a junior secretary came dashing toward him, waving a sheet of paper in his hand all the while, skidding to a halt when he finally reached Kingsley.

“Sir! Sir! We just got a Firecall tip from Draco Malfoy of all people. He said that Rodolphus LeStrange is our man, and he passed us this address before ending the call. While we waited for you, we ran a quick auto-scry for magical presence, and the place is off the bloody charts! Fluctuating magic like we haven’t seen since the war! This might be legit, even if it is from Malfoy. What should we do?”

Kingsley looked at the address as he hustled back to the office. He had his mind made up by the time he walked in the door.

“We’ve got nothing else to go on…what’s to lose? We’re going! I want every man and woman we have on shift ready to leave in ten minutes! Full details, all assignments. Curse-breakers, ward-wrights, medical and combat ready personnel. Hit-wizards and Unspeakables too! What are you all waiting for? GO, GOD DAMN IT! WE LEAVE IN NINE MINUTES!”

His secretary was already grabbing the Floo powder when his adjutant yelled a question before running to grab field gear.

“Minister! You’re going too? You’re the Minister of Magic! You should be here!”

Kingsley smiled for the first time all day.

“Not tonight! Tonight I‘m just a pissed off Auror who hasn’t had enough sleep! Now move it!”

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Draco popped back into existence in the heart of Muggle London, amazed that he was still intact. It had worked! He’d Apparated over a long distance for the first time ever, and he wasn’t missing any parts. He’d have congratulated himself, but his heart was still palpitating, and the address on the building in front of him was the very one he was looking for. Not that it took much guesswork, since Harry had blasted an eight foot hole through what had once been the entrance. Draco hurried forward, and ward-fire crackled along his nerves, signaling their presence, but protected by the Dampener as he was, they did no harm to him.

He heard the pitiable, animal-like cries before he made it through the door, and what he saw when he crossed the threshold gave him immediate pause. Harry was at his uncle’s feet, writhing in muted agony, past the point of articulating even proper screams. MacNair’s blood-drenched corpse was only a few feet from Draco, and the stench of blood and gore was fresh and sharp in the air about him. His stomach immediately roiled, and the sight of Rodolphus LeStrange in all his glory, leering and triumphant over Harry, brought Draco right to the edge of naked terror again. The face that had haunted the worst of his nightmares was only a few dozen steps away, but Harry needed his help…immediately.

Draco raised his wand and started forward, hoping his uncle wouldn’t see him until he was in close enough range to guarantee a solid hit. One shaking step, then another, wand clenched in a hand that was trembling like a seizure victim. He passed the fallen hulk of MacNair, trying hard not to take in the sight of his ruptured skull and spilled entrails. A moment of panic now and all would be lost.

LeStrange’s gaze flickered as a pale form approached from the door. He turned just in time to dodge the hex that went sizzling past his head. Wand up and ready, his Cruciatus interrupted, Rodolphus looked on in amazement and vague amusement at his pajama-clad nephew, who held his wand in a hand that shook visibly with fear. It was both astonishing and hilarious. He hadn’t even imagined that Draco might have the strength to come here, much less confront him with a drawn wand, and the laughable part was that the little brat actually believed that such a gesture might have meaning!

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my errant nephew. Young Mr. Malfoy, it is a pleasure. How fortunate that you’ve returned to me, so hale and hearty. I’d thought you of no further use, but someone has clearly taken the trouble to patch you back together. What merry sport might be made of you now! You should know that a broken part is never as strong again as a whole one…but what a joy it will be to break you again…as only I can.”

Draco took another step forward. His instincts screamed for him to take flight, but Harry was only a dozen steps away, motionless in the aftermath of the Cruciatus Curse. He flung a desperate hex at his uncle.

“Expelliarmus!”

Rodolphus blocked the spell neatly with a calm flick of his wand and half-muttered spell.

“Pathetic. I was almost certain that you could do better than that. The only reason I didn’t allow you a wand before was to ensure that you had no means by which to take your own life. IMPERIO!”

Draco blocked the spell carefully, and the strength of his new wand prevailed, dissipating the curse well before it struck. Rodolphus nodded with amusement and vague approval.

“I see you have improved your skills in some respects. I assume your other ’talents’ are still intact. One gets the impression that Mr. Potter now benefits from what was so painstakingly imparted to you. Does he say that he loves you…for the pleasures you bring him? Does he rut to repletion in that tender, if a trifle well-used, little arse of yours? Or is his affection pure and chaste, covering for the cruel knowledge that he wouldn’t sully himself with a whoring faggot’s favors?”

Draco hissed while his mind flinched away from words he’d so often thought to himself, notions he’d carried as deep fears and insecurities, now laid open and voiced by his uncle. He only wished that his voice had sounded steadier when he answered.

“Doesn’t matter. I love him. DO YOU HEAR THAT, HARRY? I LOVE YOU! You could never understand what I feel for him. Say whatever you want. I’m not your toy anymore! I won’t let you hurt him! REDUCTO!”

Rodolphus deflected the spell, sending it careening off into the wall, shattering windows and the boards that were over them. Draco felt his uncle’s answering curse nearly graze him, and the amulet was hot against his skin. It was warding him somewhat, and had taken the edge off of the spell that had almost clipped his shoulder. His uncle looked far less amused now, and Draco took another step forward.

“I beg to differ, boy! I have seen what lies within your pretty little skull, and I know your every weakness, your petty lusts, your vanities and your delusions. You claim to love? The pity of others may have spared you, but your willingness to offer up your body has bought you so much more! You worked your way to the one person powerful enough to offer safety and comfort, and your wiles purchased his tolerance. Will you serve him so well when he rises as your new Lord? Will your favors avail you then? Or will he give you to me, the servant who brought him back to our world, powerful and whole again?

I will make all that you think you have endured PALE in comparison to the new torments I visit upon you. You will come to look upon our previous time together as a happy and carefree time of peace before I am finished with you! You think I’ve exhausted my arts? You weren’t worthy of the whole of them! I will feel no such compunction henceforth! You insolent little whelp! Put down your wand and submit, or what you endure will be told of in whispers for ages to come!”

Draco was trembling violently, and his fear was very real. He wasn’t really a match for his uncle magically, and the Dampener couldn’t protect against everything. Sooner or later he’d fail, and his uncle would have him cold, and the realization that this could happen made Draco’s balls shrink back for the safety of his body cavity. If Harry didn’t come to consciousness soon, he’d be alone with Rodolphus, and he would surely lose.

His uncle flicked a subtle spell his way, and Draco ducked his head and fired back with a hex that sizzled by too far to the right. His uncle hadn’t even flinched. Draco gambled on calling out to Harry again, praying that Harry wasn’t already lost to him, hoping his message reached the right soul.

“Harry! Love is the answer! Love, Harry! You have to forgive him! I love you, Harry! Remember that! I LOVE YOU!”

Rodolphus pieced together the motive behind his nephew’s pretty speech, and his eyes widened with alarm. To confirm his suspicions about this improbable plan of his nephew’s, he threw a brief barrage of curses, keeping Draco off his guard, but his mind was swiftly working toward a single goal. Wandless Legilimency.

Draco’s hopes and plans were at the surface, easy to read, but Rodolphus encountered something he had not expected at all, and he almost fumbled with the blocking of a spell because of the revelation. Now he knew precisely what to do.

“Uncanny! Someone…someone has warded your memories! Your bravery is borrowed, boy! Let us see how you fare without such a gift, eh?”

Draco paled, realizing what his uncle had seen in his thoughts. A simple spell couldn’t block a true Legilimens, and utter horror crept over Draco in a weird flash.

“NO! NonononoNO! PLEASE!”

A shattering blast of force struck Draco’s mind, and the carefully built work of Severus Snape collapsed. A flood of memory tore through Draco’s mind, carrying every nightmarish experience, every hated touch, every burn, every cut, every thrusting cock and every cruel blow with it. It all came whirling back, blinding him to the world. His wand clattered to the ground while he stood wide-eyed and slack-jawed, numbed by all consuming horror. Then Draco dropped to the floor, curled into a ball and clutched himself tightly, and began to scream uncontrollably.

Rodolphus LeStrange summoned Draco’s wand, noting its fine make, and thought it might make a perfect gift to a new Dark Lord. He turned and cast Cruciatus upon Potter once again, this time laughing exultantly over his nephew’s terrified screams.


TBC!!!