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 69: Redeem Me: An Epilogue


George Weasley’s trench coat, which had cost a small fortune in Diagon Alley, and marked him as a man to be reckoned with, didn’t do quite enough to keep the December chill off of him while he walked through the snow, boots crunching softly on the half frozen slush of winter. He passed headstone after headstone, until he reached the one he’d come to visit. Ginny.

George squatted down rather awkwardly, then abandoned all pretense of keeping the snow off of himself and just knelt down beside the stone marker. The flowers he’d brought wouldn’t last very long at all in this weather, but then, they never really did. Once you cut them, they were already dead. Not that different from people, really. Death was irreversible. Once a person’s spirit left their body, they were severed from the ones who loved them…forever. Like Ginny. The awkward, gawky little girl in a house full of noisy, rowdy boys. Their only sister, cut down in the prime of her life because some assholes with a Mark needed to make a point about their precious Lord Voldemort. She’d died for nothing.

George peeled away the elegant metal track that held his enchanted eye in place. It was a ritual for him. He didn’t come here to live in the present, he came to remember the past, when he hadn’t worn this thing, and he’d looked from two healthy eyes at a brother whose face wasn’t scarred and lined, and he’d looked at a sister who was whole and healthy, and as bold and sassy as one might expect of a daughter of Molly Weasley.

‘Been a little while, sis. Things have been…strange. They’re changing…I’m changing. Mostly…getting older. Maybe wiser. I hope. I still miss you. We all do. You wouldn’t believe your eyes these days, what with Harry and Draco Malfoy a couple, and the press loving every minute of it. Hardly like the world you remember. It’s only been a couple of years, and everything is changing…faster than I like most of the time. Guess that brings me to the point.

I made a promise, and I tried to keep it, but I wonder now if you’d even have wanted me to. There aren’t that many of the bastards that did this to you left free these days. You could count the number left on two hands…and still have a couple fingers left. I tried. Harry did the dirty work, and Fred and I did the quiet part. It got done, and I thought that was what mattered. It’s a safer place than when you were here last, and at least I’m sure of that. Not sure of much else anymore.

I learned some things recently. About vengeance, about killing, and more. Weird things, things I never guessed at before. I don’t think I can do this anymore. I thought I could. I thought I could keep going and see it finished, but I can’t. I hope you’ll forgive me. I’m giving the information network over to Tonks. She’s the best of the Aurors, and with this kind of network, she’ll make a name for herself fast. Fred and I are done, and so is Harry. For us at least, it’s over. I’d like to think that, wherever you are now, you understand. I really hope you do.

One thing hasn’t changed at all. We all miss you, and we love you.’

“Oy, brother mine! You coming? It’s freezing out here, and dinner at Mum’s is on in half an hour. I’m ready. You?”

George returned his metal track to its usual position around his head, and rolled his eye flippantly. He clambered up off his knees and stumbled back through the snow to Fred.

“Merlin! Do you think with ANYTHING but your stomach? Yeah, I’m done. Let’s be off.”

‘So long, sis. I’ll be around again from time to time. Just don’t ever think you’re forgotten. You aren’t, and never will be.’

With the muted cracks that marked Apparation, the Weasley twins were gone, and a handful of flowers remained, snow gently drifting its way over them as the chilly winds of December blew.

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Harry was watching Draco from a slight distance, while the Weasley house celebrated the incoming New Year. No one was staying overnight, but everyone had Flooed or Apparated in for the occasion, and would remain until just after midnight. The house was busy to bursting, this time more so than even before. Draco was in the middle of a very animated conversation, despite the faint headache he was still recovering from. It hadn’t been bad, and Snape had done his usual best, but Harry still saw Draco wince every now and again, and it made his hands itch to wrap themselves around his lover and offer comfort.

Draco was chatting with Eileen, Ron’s girlfriend, and having a pretty good time at that. Eileen was easy on the eyes, with red hair that was considerably darker than the average for the Weasley house, and blue eyes that were uncommonly bright. She was vivacious, forward and intelligent, which explained readily how she’d worked her way to the middle levels of a serious charitable institution before she was twenty-one.

Harry thought she made a nice match for Ron, but he could tell Molly wasn’t too sure just yet. She’d always been protective of her boys, and woe betide the woman who didn’t meet Molly’s standard for her children. For now, Molly was grudgingly willing to admit that the young woman seemed nice, and that was all she was likely to grant for now.

Eileen was Irish by birth, but had lived in England since she was only a few years old, and her father had been a Quidditch star for Ireland some twenty years before. Her passions were education, Quidditch, and charitable works, and that put her in good standing with Draco, who seemed comfortable with all the subjects at hand, and felt a certain kinship with the ’newcomer’, since he was comparatively new to the Weasley household, and only Eileen was newer.

Harry’s eyes flicked across the room. Ron was in a scorching wizard chess match against his father, the ultimate opponent, and Percy and his fiancée, Penelope, were watching intently while chatting with Bill and Fleur. Molly was busily moving about, keeping the cider and pumpkin juice and tea flowing. Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks were conversing very seriously with Fred and George, and Harry steeled himself to join the trio that made up the last of their guests. It was only polite after all. Charlie, Dula, and Severus Snape were near the fireplace, and Snape seemed to get along passing well with the only Durmstrang student in the house, Dula.

Harry still wasn’t sure why Snape had chosen to remain after rebuilding Draco’s wards yesterday, but the man made him uncomfortable as hell, just standing there, sipping from a metal flask every so often, dark eyes flicking about the room and revealing nothing of his thoughts. He’d thanked Snape politely enough yesterday, but Molly had asked him to celebrate the New Year, and against all expectations, the greasy git had said yes. Harry strolled up to the little cluster, patently ignoring Snape’s taut grimace at Harry‘s approach.

Dula spoke of old spells and curriculum differences at Durmstrang, and Harry stuck to the edge of the conversation, silent when he had nothing of worth to add. First Charlie drifted off in search of fresh cider, and to harass his youngest brother, who had finally lost the chess game to Arthur, and then Dula very politely excused himself to make use of the bathroom. Harry found himself standing by the fire on New Year’s Eve, drinking cider with Severus Snape. It was at about that moment that he flirted with the question of whether he’d really gotten the better end of the deal against Voldemort.

Severus rolled his eyes and sipped from his flask, giving Harry a withering glance before he spoke.

“What? If there is something you have need of saying, then by all means spit it out, Potter!”

Harry bristled at the tone of the man. The same condescending air he’d endured for most of a decade.

“I just wondered what you have in that flask. I haven’t seen you drink anything else all night.”

Severus gave Harry a conspiratorial glance, looking carefully around the room before whispering.

“Polyjuice. I’m not really Severus Snape, and I’m actually an agent of Voldemort here to kill the Boy Who Lived.”

Just as the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck were rising and his own incredulity peaked, he noticed several things wrong with that statement. One, Polyjuice wasn’t sipped every few minutes, but every hour or so. Two, the man looked like his face was going to rip in half from trying to restrain an evil smirk…while intoxicated. Snape guffawed! Snape!

“Oh, do come off it, Potter! You’ve been staring cross-eyed at me since you were eleven, trying to work out how everything from the rise of evil to your first flourish of acne was connected to me. It’s unfathomable that you could even fall for that for the few seconds that you did. I swear I’ll never know what Draco sees in you!”

Harry sniffed the air while Snape drawled.

“You’re…you’re drunk! You! How? Why? I didn’t think you ever drank! What’s in that flask?”

“It’s schnapps! I brewed it quickly last night from some apples of Molly’s that had gone a bit off. Bloody marvelous stuff.”

Snape took another swig, and Harry watched with incredulity.

“Potter…it’s New Year’s Eve, I’m surrounded by Weasleys, Voldemort is dead for good, and I spent yesterday trying to repair work that should have lasted for years. If ever there were a day that cried out for schnapps, this would be the one.”

“If being here bothers you so much that you have to drink, why stay?”

Snape stood to his full height, took a deep breath, and sighed, speaking with a tone that quietly implied the complete idiocy of the listener.

“Because Molly Weasley asked me to do so, and because Draco reiterated her request…and because I felt like it! I’ve been in Germany, Potter! Germany! Do you have any idea how much I loathe speaking German! If I never use another guttural, I shall be the happier for it. It’s good to be in England, Potter. I’m celebrating. I’m told it’s what people do.”

Harry reeled. Severus Snape was tipsy…and almost cheerful…no wonder he was sticking to his own company as much as possible. The idea of a cheerful Snape was more than most people could handle and keep their heads screwed on straight.

“Well alright then. Good for you! Sorry to interrupt, I just…I’ve never seen you…happy…before. Looks good on you. Keep it up.”

“Sure, Potter. Add insult to injury. Even you couldn’t spoil this good mood. And don’t expect that because you periodically pop up and save the world that it will make any difference when you come back for NEWTs certification in Potions. It’s pass or fail, Potter. Pass or fail.”

“Well that’s just life, isn’t it? It’s always pass or fail.”

Snape hiccupped, then looked mortified by the fact that he had just done so. He was also mortified by Potter’s statement. Because it was true.

“My earlier assessment was correct. You are not completely without potential, Mr. Potter.”

Harry smirked. “And you’re not completely without a sense of humor. Here.”

Harry held out his glass of cider. Snape took it with a look of confusion.

“What, pray tell, do you want me to do with this?” He queried acidly.

Harry grinned widely. “It’s almost midnight. Hold my cider while I kiss my boyfriend.”

If Snape’s glare at Harry’s retreating back could have shot daggers, the Boy Who Lived would have looked a pincushion.

Arthur had returned the Weasley clock to its place of honor after making the necessary repairs, and it had had a sheet over it since its return to the house that very morning. Arthur Weasley tapped his glass, drawing the attention of the assembled celebrants, and launched into the little speech he’d prepared.

“Ahem. Weasleys one and all, friends, loved ones, celebrants and miscreants alike. This evening, we say farewell to the year gone by, letting go the hurts and sorrows that assailed us during its passage, and we greet the new one with our hopes and dreams intact. We have among us some who have never before celebrated a New Year in this house, and they will bear witness to an event we revere and observe with great awe and the respect that it is due. When someone dear to us, dwelling here among us, also saves the life of one our family, it is our tradition to install their name as a part of our household, so to honor them for the kindness they have done us. This past year, such a thing has happened. It gives me great pleasure to unveil for you the Weasley Clock, which has seen eight generations of this family through the many years since its creation. It has borne witness to every crisis that this family has known, and stood beside us through every celebration. In a few seconds, the midnight hour will sound, and alongside our wishes for the new year, we will offer our congratulations to Draco, who has more than earned his place of honor upon this ancient device’s face.”

Arthur whisked away the sheet, revealing the modification he’d made to the clock just as it began to strike the midnight hour. Draco’s name had been added to the many hands, or rather, spoons, that marked the face, in addition to the hands that told the time, and soft applause filled the room while Arthur bowed to Draco. Draco was so floored that he almost forgot his midnight kiss, until the need to hide tears reminded him that Harry’s lips were a ready and able way to camouflage his distressed state.

In the warm and hazy comfort of home and good spirits, laughter and cheer, Draco lost himself with Harry for a moment, fusing utterly with his love. He came back to himself slightly embarrassed, since it dawned on him that the applause had shifted to polite chuckles while they watched him snogging his way to near senselessness. Propriety took over, and Draco stammered out thanks, hoping he didn’t sound too fatuous, but he was sure that he couldn’t adequately express how he felt about this.

The Weasley clock had come to bear the name of a Malfoy. If that wasn’t a sign of drastically changing times, then what could be? The old spoon that carried his given name was a symbol of so much more. This, more than any place Draco had ever been, was his home, and these people were his family, and always would be.

Much later, after cider had loosened inhibitions and many tearful farewells were given and received, Draco led Harry upstairs by the hand, somewhat rosy-cheeked from the dangerous combination of alcohol and high spirits. His headache had long since receded to no more than a faint heaviness about the skull, and he hadn’t dared do more than curl up or snog with Harry since the Solstice. To be both precise and accurate, it would have to be said that Draco was just insanely horny. The many joys of that evening had tempted him to crown the New Year with still more happiness, and he gave in to that temptation immediately. Harry was hurrying to keep up on the way to their room, and Draco’s grip was like iron around his hand.

As soon as the door to their room was closed, and a suitable spell intoned to guarantee privacy, Draco all but mauled Harry with an intensity born of a hunger that woke days ago, but simply couldn’t be sated at the time. Between the headache and the celebrations underway, Draco had been stuck with only his imagination and a few good snogging sessions to keep him content, but now there was nothing holding him back.

Harry stumbled to keep up, trying to match Draco’s tipsy ferocity and ardor, but wound up being pushed onto the bed and divested of his clothes by a lover who was drowning Harry’s conscious mind with deep, strong kisses and hands that explored with an eager passion and instinctive deftness. Draco peeled away his own garments in a matter of seconds, and settled himself on top of Harry, launching a new assault on Harry’s lips and neck. Harry quickly made the journey from excited to rampantly erect in a matter of minutes, and coaxing him on was a litany of affection from Draco, not to mention the softness of Draco‘s skin slithering against Harry’s own.

“Waited…soo…long. Too long. Want you…now. Love you…soo much. Only you…Harry…you.”

Suddenly Draco’s lips were gone from Harry’s mouth, and Harry opened his eyes just in time to see blond hair moving down his chest, and Draco’s tongue ran a wet little trail from just above Harry’s heart, right down to his groin. Harry had long since discovered that he was a little ticklish, not being all that used to being touched there, and the sensations brought by that small, pink tongue darting between his legs were exquisite.

“Huh! Ahh! Draco, love! Wha…mmm…love you. ‘S good. MERLIN!”

Harry hadn’t had half as much cider as Draco, but his tolerance for alcohol was famously low. It was hard to form coherent thoughts, especially when Draco kept doing things with his tongue that defied easy description. A velvet soft hand gripped Harry’s erect cock and held it still, pointed upwards, and a hungry mouth employed itself at the task of teasing Harry mercilessly. Neither of them spoke more than a few garbled words at random interviews, hushed and feverish with desire, but they each knew precisely what the other had meant, and that was more than enough. This wasn’t a time for conversation, this was a time to speak without words, where hands and lips and tongues made subtle statements of desire and respect in the darkness.

As tempted as he was to just sate himself by savoring Harry’s orgasm, drinking it in and claiming it as his own, Draco had another reckless urge welling up inside of him, a gnawing hunger that had remained unfed since that first and only precious night between them. Draco paused in his motions, leaving Harry hanging cruelly on the edge of repletion, groaning softly with the restless need to come. A small vial sailed through the air at the command of a whispered Accio, and Draco’s hand carefully and pleasurably worked the slick stuff onto Harry’s cock. It was pulsing, hot and heavy in his hands, like fire and silk, soft skin flushed with the heat of urgency.

Harry bit his lip throughout, fighting the urge to surrender to pleasure and just come right then. It was obvious what Draco wanted…and then Draco surprised him. All Harry got in the way of warning was a faintly indecisive look, before Draco laid down, at rest on his back, and drew his knees up, gently working the lubricant into himself. Harry understood Draco’s unspoken plea perfectly.

’Please don’t say anything about this. It isn’t as easy for me as it looks…this way. I want this, but if you say something…anything, I don’t know if I can keep my nerve up and actually do this. Please do this right. Please?’

Harry sat up quickly, and lavished Draco with every caress and distraction that he could muster, soothing away the tension that came to Draco with a position that held the implications of surrender. The blackest memories had been taken from him, walled off by wards, but the association was not dead, and Draco urgently needed this new first to be right in every way, an affirmation of the trust he‘d placed willingly in Harry. Harry did not dare disappoint him. However passive the position appeared, Draco was making a bold and aggressive move toward living his life without compromises, as well as without fear, and Harry would have sooner died than trample over that wonderful courage.

It was as achingly slow an affair as it had been before, and Harry found that Draco’s knees felt wonderful around his chest, and looking into his lover’s eyes between kisses was a pleasure that transcended positions. Cold feet on his back were another matter, but they were a small price to pay for the incredible warmth and slick tightness that slowly enveloped his cock, and the look on Draco’s face made it clear that entry was not only welcome, but also needed and desired desperately.

When Harry was finally flush against him, Draco reveled in their union, savoring all that he felt at that moment, physical and emotional alike. He felt uncomfortably full and yet wondrously close at the same time. Stretched and yet stimulated. Harry’s arms were under his knees, making it easy to keep his legs up and out of the way, and the physical sensations of entry were occasionally distracted by the soft kisses that Harry was devoting to Draco’s neck. It quickly became apparent that the slight, but noticeable upward curve of Harry’s erection served a useful purpose from this position, since it unerringly seemed to graze against a place inside Draco that left him quivering and incoherent except for tense little moans of pleasure.

Harry’s athleticism was showing itself quickly. He was steady and sure, despite the constant care he took not to handle Draco too roughly, and the pace of hips was slow and languorous. Much of it was guesswork, mere instinct in the absence of actual experience, but it was more than enough for Draco, whose knees had tightened around Harry’s torso, and who was almost delirious with pleasure. This was what he’d been cheated of, and had found again. This was what he’d waited for for so long, wondering if it was right, or good, or moral. Here, now, there were no more questions, and confusion over his own wants or their relative worth ceased to exist. Harry was as gentle with the power Draco had given him as he would have been if handling something fragile, which, in a manner of speaking, he was.

When Draco came it was with surprise and shock, crying out suddenly and clawing at Harry’s back with eyes wide. He’d been riding waves of pleasure, flowing as gently as water, caring about nothing but the feel of his lover inside him, and the spontaneous eruption from his groin, unaided by his hand, or Harry’s mouth, for the first time in his life, caught him completely off his guard. Harry was at first terrified, thinking he’d done something wrong, until he saw and felt the sticky fluid spilling onto Draco’s stomach, even as the muscles inside Draco’s body clenched and spasmed tauntingly around Harry’s cock, grasping and pulling an orgasm from him despite his best efforts to control himself. He idly wished that something more manly than a whimper had emerged from his throat, but the sensation of his suddenly sensitive cock being gripped firmly by muscles that faintly seemed to ripple was just more than he could take and remain stoic and reserved.

It was almost a minute before they could do more than stare at each other in amazement, eyes wide and guileless, genuinely floored by the capacity they possessed for pleasing one another.

And so it went, long past the hours at which other revelers found their beds and rested, Harry and Draco made the most of this first night of the New Year, smashing the spirits of old and ugly memories upon the anvil that was their abiding love and desire for each other.

In the small hours of the morning, Draco was breathing softly into the crook of Harry’s arm, and Harry was hovering on the brink of sleep as well, but a sense of wonder had kept him up past Draco. His cock was sore and limp, and as he was naked and on his side, it flopped gracelessly between them now, and even the temptation of the soft flesh held close to him couldn’t rouse it any more. Draco had been insatiable, fighting the urge for slumber until the last, choosing to assert over and over again that they were and always would be lovers. Harry was pensive and full of reflection even now, eyelids sagging while he continued to look in amazement at the pale and slender young man in his arms.

‘Draco Malfoy. Draco is my lover. Sometimes it’s still hard to believe that this actually happened. All of it. Like a dream. It’s over. The bad times are done, and this is the rest of my life. All this started when my parents were killed saving me, and it all came to this…me…here…with him. So perfect. Happy. Finally.’

Harry drifted to sleep with Draco curled into his arms, thoughts of love borne aloft in his dreams. It was a fine omen for the year to come, and though neither knew it, it might just as well have been an omen for the rest of their lives.

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Molly Weasley sat down to rest in her kitchen, cup of tea at the ready. What amazing things these past months had wrought since the new year had come. So many changes, and all for the better. It was quiet in the Burrow, save for the faint rattle of the ghoul in the attic, and Molly sighed softly, rather enjoying the peace, but missing the crowds that had once graced her kitchen.

Harry and Draco had moved off on their own, into the Black estate at Grimmauld Place. She could remember when Harry had hated to think of the place, as it always reminded him of Sirius, and of the Order at wartime. Harry didn’t seem to let those memories bother him anymore, and when the time had seemed right, he’d announced that he meant to fix the place up when he wasn’t studying at Hogwarts.

The boys had taken the courses necessary to finish their long overdue NEWTs, and had passed them with flying colors in the main, save for a few average scores here and there. That accomplished, Harry had hired Dobby the house-elf away from Hogwarts, and had set to turning the old Black estate into a proper home. Draco still worked for the twins in the same capacity, but he only needed a few hours every two or three days to keep up now, since the hard work of organizing it all to his liking had been done months ago. With time on his hands again, Draco had taken up some of the causes he’d heard about from Eileen, championing them publicly and helping to arrange funding when he could.

Ronald had become a part of it as well, the spokesperson for a program to fund new students at Hogwarts with complete tuition. Not every magically inclined child looked forward to a Hogwarts education, but Draco, Eileen and Ron had been working to move more students toward Hogwarts, and to date, both Minerva McGonagall and the board of governors for the school were pleased. Harry had built a trust fund from the fortunes he’d inherited, and Draco had carefully invested it so that it might last in perpetuity. Eileen administered the day to day operations of this small foundation, and Ron sought out good candidates and spent much of his time meeting eager parents, or charming the skeptical ones with his open smile and good nature. It was a fledgling thing, but they all seemed so earnest about it, and it certainly seemed to be working. One could hardly find fault with something like that, and the press had taken quite a shine to the whole idea, so that was that.

Bill and Fleur had a beautiful daughter now. Helena was only a month old, but she’d charmed everyone effortlessly, showing a charisma that defied her few weeks of life. Ron was engaged to Eileen, and Molly had made up her mind some time ago that the girl was quite possibly the best thing that could have happened to her Ronny. Come spring of next year the youngest of her children would be married, with Ron following fast in the footsteps of Percy, who had married Penelope Clearwater at last, right on the heels of a promotion. As joyful as the occasions were, something faintly rueful touched her heart now and again.

All grown. All gone. There were visits, and dinners, and holidays to look forward to, but all the young ones were taking care of themselves so very well. It was the kind of thing that said she’d done right, and raised them well, but she missed the raising and the teaching and the looking after more than she’d imagined was possible. She had always been a mother, practically since she’d been an adult, and how to define herself when the children were gone? Who was Molly Weasley now, with no one to be a mother to?

The Floo flared bright and high, and Arthur Weasley stepped out, dusting off his coat and coughing. Molly made to stand and fetch a cup for tea, and a question was on her lips before her husband waved for her to sit.

“Needn’t get up love, I’ll grab my own tonight. Just came home early for once. Left Jenkins looking after things at the office. I’ve been nose to the grindstone for over thirty years. If I feel like coming home to my wife early now and again, I’ve bloody well earned it!”

Molly smiled quietly, and Arthur poured himself a cuppa and found his seat next to hers. “Now then! How’s my Molly-O today?”

Molly smiled wanly and shrugged. She’d always told Arthur just what she thought, and today would be no different. He wouldn’t mock her for the strange things she thought or felt at times.

“At a bit of a loss, dear. Things are well enough, but…I just can’t seem to get my cheer these days. All the lads are gone. Such wonderful boys, the lot of them, and this lovely old house seems half dead for the lack of them. Arthur, love…I’m not sure I know who I am, without someone to look after. Who am I, really…now?”

Arthur had been listening intently, and quite out of character for a moment, he simply snorted with derision. Molly took umbrage at first, surprised that he would do anything so insensitive, but Arthur caught himself and headed off her coming tirade with a nodded head and a smile.

“Well…you certainly asked the right fellow for the answer to that one! Can’t say I’m happy that you don’t know the answer, but I’ve known it since the day we met. Molly Prewett Weasley is precisely who she was then, and always will be. The loveliest and boldest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, and the only woman who could capture my fancy for even a minute. Children grow up, love, and grandchildren will do the same in time, but you’ll still be my Molly-O, same as then, love.”

Molly blushed furiously, even after thirty odd years of listening to the same silver-tongued devil she called a husband. Worries were suddenly for another day, because Molly still had the same fine thing she’d had nearly all of her life. She had love, and it had indelibly marked her life as a good one.

And if that red-headed scoundrel she called her husband kept that kind of flattery up, she might just be thanking him for it tonight!

THE END…

A/N: Redeem Me, for a number of reasons, has been the most popular fic I’ve written so far, and the response to it has continually amazed me. I owe some of its success to carefully pre-planning the plot months before I actually wrote it, since this resulted in something more coherent and well thought out, and readers and reviewers noticed the difference right away. I learned something very valuable about putting that extra work into a fic, and I thank everyone who reviewed for helping me to understand what builds a more enjoyable read.

Special thanks go out to a number of people, and although there are many who shall remain nameless and deserve more credit, I have only so much space and time, and can only list the folks who have made the largest impact.

To Jennavere, for getting me started, thanks, love!

To Lady Aubrey, the official beta of Redeem Me’s second half. I started on my own, but out of the kindness of her heart, she leaped in and showed a thorough and skillful hand. Thank you very, very much!

To AspenInTheSunlight, creator of Scaradicate Salve, featured in the H/D classic 'A Year Like None Other'.

To the small army of reviewers on so many sites, I thank you. That you cared enough to share your thoughts, thanks and feelings with me is a slash writer’s only real reward. There isn’t a proper way to express how much I appreciate the kindness you’ve all shown. The best I can do is to thank you here, and try to keep writing fics that bring you enjoyment. Thank you all so much.

To Aikirangel, whose art is the moody and murky, sultry and dreamy stuff of slash heaven, thank you for the many renderings of things inspired by Redeem Me. For those interested in art inspired by Redeem Me, do try to visit his LJ page, though I believe you must friend him as a user before you can see many of his paintings and sketches. http://aikirangel.livejournal.com/

To Selija, who designed not only a gorgeous piece of art, but also the banner ad for Redeem Me, I thank you so much! It’s the first time I’ve ever had a fic with a banner, and I blush with pride every time I see it now. Discriminating readers may notice that it closely resembles the scene at the end of Chap 67: Love Is The Answer, which was written with this image fixed in my mind as a fine ending for the final conflict. Selija’s LiveJournal page can be viewed at: http://selija.livejournal.com/2867.html

To Lemonade8, who crafted these little jewels:
http://i137.photobucket.com/albums/q224/lemonade8/Samaelnightmare.jpg

http://i137.photobucket.com/albums/q224/lemonade8/Samaelsnightmare2.jpg

Thanks, love! They’re pretty darned cool, if I do say so myself!

My own LiveJournal can be found at this web address, and updates regarding new fics or chapters are available every few days to every week or so. http://samaelthekind.livejournal.com/

Finally, I’d like to comment that this has been a work of fiction about people confronting their fears and hatreds, and reaching out to others in spite of them, or allowing others to reach out toward them. It is also about the quality of the human soul that allows us to become better human beings despite enduring things which might embitter us and make us into creatures of rage and hate. If this fic has done anything of worth, I hope it has pushed forward the notion that we are capable of amazing things even in the face of great adversity.

Even if I have never met you face to face, you have all my love, and deserve it, too!

Peace and Love, Samayel