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 8: Standing At The Crossroads


Harry walked out the door of the Burrow, pulse pounding, his headache back in force…apparently with several reinforcement headaches along for back up. This was impossible. It just wouldn’t work. How the hell could he be expected to live under the same roof with Draco Malfoy? It sounded simple, but in reality it was a lot more complicated than he’d imagined. The only time he ever felt this insanely tense was before a raid, but here there was nothing to do but sit through it, and endure still more tension with every passing minute.

’He hoped I’d kill him. He wanted to die. I don’t think he expected Molly to stop me. He really didn’t care if he died. I almost killed him, too. Now…what the hell is wrong with me? The day before yesterday, I knew what I was doing. How the hell could that change so fast? It isn’t right. I can’t fucking deal with this!’

Harry hoped there wouldn’t be a flap over leaving Draco alone, but fuck-all, he’d needed to get away. In the shower he’d…no…never mind that! It didn’t matter. It was just a fucked-up response to the stress he was under. It was hell trying to remain calm and polite near Draco, and the encounter in the hallway, after a lousy night’s sleep, had just made things worse.

Harry wasn’t sure enough about Draco to leave the property, but he did need to burn off stress, headache be damned. He took off running, around the edge of the Burrow’s property line. It didn’t take long to make a single lap, and the headache was fading before the third was finished, and by the twentieth, nothing short of being sat on by a dragon could have bothered him.

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Molly checked in on Draco, and was pleased to see him awake and coherent so early. It was a solid sign of a fast recovery, and it lifted her morning spirits a bit higher. She’d gone to bed with a few too many melancholy thoughts, and good news was a far better way to start the day.

She set a fair breakfast spread for Arthur, who had taken his morning tea and gone upstairs to properly greet their guest for the first time. It was necessary to spell the food for freshness and warmth, since no one had come to the table yet, and then she gathered a tray for Draco; heavy broth, fresh bread and a bit of jam as well, and juice as well as tea.

Molly felt herself trembling, and a nervous sweat broke over her skin. She placed the tray on the counter and took a few deep breaths. It was unseasonably warm today. She opened the window and let the crisp, autumn air cool her. A minute later she felt right as rain, and went back to her mission with relish. Tray in hand, she made the journey up the stairs, only slightly miffed that Harry and Arthur hadn’t made it to the table yet.

“-needn’t worry for a thing with my Molly looking after you. She did a marvelous job of putting my fingers back on after that incident at work with a Jinxed blender. Awful row, that was. Kept bleeding all over my paperwork for hours afterward, had to come home early and let Molly set them right.”

“ARTHUR! It’s good of you to say hello, but your breakfast is waiting and you’ve another fifteen minutes before you belong at work…you know can’t get a decent thing done when you haven’t had your breakfast. Now shoo!”

Molly’s tone was full of largely feigned exasperation, mingled with the faintest hint of adoration. Arthur Weasley smiled widely before answering, giving Draco a mocking, sidelong nod of sympathy.

“Right then, I’m off, but we’ll see you again soon enough. I’ll try to drop in now and then, perhaps for a bit of tea when you’re feeling well enough.” He stood and turned to Molly. “Thank you for the reminder, love…almost forgot the time.”

Arthur kissed his wife before heading downstairs. Draco felt horribly uncomfortable at the muted display of comfortable and familiar intimacy between them, and averted his eyes politely. Molly settled the tray in front of him, and Draco’s eyes almost bulged when he saw the jam.

Given that his diet hadn’t consisted of much of anything for months, and the last decent meals he’d had were sometimes days apart, luxuries such as fresh bread and jam were instant hits with Draco. He mumbled appreciative comments while he cheerfully wolfed down every bite, as well as nearly gulping his broth. Molly watched carefully, admonishing him to slow down when he looked a little too frantic.

It occurred to Molly that, since Draco suffered from considerable anxiety about being touched, it might help to serve him a Calming Draught, and then engage him in conversation while she worked. It was a common enough practice for Healers, but she’d only ever had to distract her boys before, not work around the legitimate fears of a victim of such beastly cruelty.

“Did you have a nice chat with Arthur? I know he can go on about his work, but he’d so wanted to say hello properly since you arrived, but he was off to work and you were asleep when he returned.”

Draco was licking the last traces of jam off one of his fingers, still focused almost entirely on the sensation of eating something that tasted good. He glanced back to Molly immediately, and smiled conspiratorially.

“I did. Really. Even with the work stuff. It sounds like they have a lot of misadventures in his office, but he was very nice.”

“Well…I had sound reasons for marrying him…and not just because our Bill was on the way! More than thirty years and I still adore that man. Wouldn’t trade him for all the Galleons in Gringott’s!”

Draco looked wistfully out the window. “That’s…sweet. You’re very lucky…to have that. It would be nice…if everyone did, wouldn’t it?”

Molly started prepping the potions and salves, and Draco accepted the offered Calming Draught without complaint. A minute later, he seemed a different person, without the nervous twitching and tensed muscles that were almost ever present. Molly went back to work on the arm she’d started healing the day before, and Draco still seemed edgy, but not nearly as uncomfortable as the previous day.

“Mrs. Weasley…where’s Harry?” Draco phrased the question innocently enough, as if only mildly interested. Mostly, he wondered what the great prat had been in such a hurry over, but he wasn’t about to discuss his morning encounter with Potter. Draco had already experienced enough conflict for a dozen lifetimes…he wasn’t about to risk creating any more.

“Oh, he’s likely off for a jog. Muggle exercise, just runs and runs. Usually has his breakfast about now, though. Odd that, but that’s our Harry.”

“He…he runs? In this weather? Voluntarily?” Draco shook his head and shivered at the thought of being outside again. A month of living in Muggle London…in abject poverty…had been more than enough to make him sick of cold weather.

“Oh, yes! Loves to. Most times, he runs longer when he’s worked up over something or other. He says it relaxes him. Arthur was saying that Muggle doctors recommend that kind of thing…for health. Arthur and I are a bit far along in life for that sort of thing, but I can’t argue that it’s kept Harry fit. Not at all the wee little thing we first met years ago.”

Draco mulled the notion of a stressed out Potter, who jogged whenever he needed to relax, roll through his mind. It helped keep his thoughts away from the hand that held his arm still while Molly whispered another charm…then reached for more salve. Draco bit his lip, then asked a question a bit more delicate than he would have liked. He trusted Molly Weasley more than he’d trusted anyone he’d ever known. It seemed likely that she’d indulge his curiosity. Besides, he needed to get along here, and feeling out how to deal with Harry was part of it.

“What happened to Harry? He’s…he’s not like I remember. I didn’t think he’d be so…well…different.”

Draco could feel the surprise in Molly, through the hand that held his arm still while she worked. Despite the fact that she never looked up from her work, he could sense a shift in the mood of the room around them, as if matters had shifted from light-hearted conversation, to a subject of enormous importance and far-reaching consequences.

“It’s good that you asked this, Draco.” Molly was studiously applying salve while she spoke. “I wanted to talk to you about that very thing, but I wanted you to get a bit better first. You weren’t in any shape to fret over such things the night before last. What do you think is ‘different’ about Harry now? I just want to hear your thoughts on the subject.”

Draco paused a moment, thinking carefully before he answered. He hadn’t had long to make observations, just a handful of encounters that hadn’t gone well. He didn’t want to offend his host, but he did want to answer Molly honestly.

“It’s not just that he looks different. He’s taller, and bigger than I remember, but it’s mostly that…well…he seems angry. Even when he’s quiet. It’s like you can feel it all around him…like the warmth from being near a fire. He wasn’t like that in school. I don’t remember much of when I showed up outside, but I remember that, when he was looking at me, it felt like he really wanted to kill me. As if, just under the surface, he was thinking about how to do it. I thought he’d still be everybody’s hero, but…I didn’t think I’d…I didn’t think I’d be scared of him. He shouldn’t be like that. I don‘t know why, but it just seems wrong.”

Molly listened with an inward sigh of relief. Draco had confirmed her hopes. In this boy, she had a potential ally. Harry ‘reacted’ to Draco, and in that, there might just be a way to bring Harry around. It would have to be done carefully, both for Draco’s sake, and for Harry’s, but it could be done. She’d just needed a reason to believe that Draco would help…and now she had one. Molly paused in her work, sitting back and looking Draco directly in the eyes.

“Harry is as dear to me as if he were one of my own children, but I’m not blind to how he’s changed. The war was hard on everyone, Draco, but Harry…Harry endured more than anyone should have. It took his parents from him, and cost him his godfather, the only decent living relative he had, after just a year of knowing him. When Albus died, Harry couldn’t stop thinking about ways he could have prevented it, but he was still the Harry you knew in school, and that we’d known for years.”

Draco listened raptly. The mixture of poignant regret and loss, tempered by time, was clear enough in her tone, and Draco didn’t dare interrupt.

“Our Ginny was killed a few months later, and we were grieving then, for our loss, and weren’t thinking of Harry. When Hermione Granger was killed, Ronald needed our help, or I don’t know what he might have done. Again, no one was watching Harry. He seemed so strong, so determined and fierce. We were all so proud of him, fighting a war that was handed to him when he was just a child. I was terrified for him and Ron most of the time, but I suppose I did believe in them all along. We were so busy celebrating, after he killed You Know Who, that it never even occurred to us that something was wrong.

Harry just seemed distant, as if something was always on his mind. He was working with the Aurors at first, and no one could blame him for wanting to bring in the rest of You-Know-Who’s inner circle. He came to stay with us then, and he was a right blessing from the first, always helpful and always a kind word when you needed one. I didn’t believe the rumors from The Prophet. Not even when they started being parroted by Arthur’s co-workers. It just didn’t seem possible. None of it sounded like anything our Harry would ever do.

He’d leave at night, and I’d hear him come back in late. Aurors at the Ministry would talk about what they found on the days after those nights. I tried to talk to him about it, but he always leaves quietly, or insists that what he’s doing is necessary, but I can’t bring myself to mention the things he’s done. I wish I didn’t believe them, but I know they’re true.

I know he loves us, and I know the decent, wonderful boy we love is in there, and he would never be a danger to us, but I also know that what he’s doing is wrong. Those who haven’t been taken in by the Ministry should be caught, and some of them certainly deserve Azkaban, but they don’t deserve death, and even if they did, it isn’t supposed to be up to Harry to decide that.

He’s killing people, Draco, and he’s getting away with it only because of who he is, and what they’ve done, but it’s still wrong. If he keeps doing what he’s been doing, the Aurors are talking about pulling his Ministry license, and if he’s ever caught at it, I can’t bear to think what might happen. Even if he isn’t our own child, I couldn’t bear to lose him.

I’m not telling you these things for no reason at all. Harry needs help, desperately, and I can’t seem to get through to him. I know you’ve no reason to help him, after what he did, but I’m asking anyway. Will you help me to get him talking, and to get him to stop this madness and let the Aurors do what they’re supposed to?

Something about you makes him react, makes him feel, makes him think about Hogwarts and Albus and everything else, and you might be able to make him face topics he won’t even let me broach. I want him to be healthy again, and I want him to be happy someday. Draco, I won’t ask again if you don’t want to do this, and I certainly don’t expect it of you if you don’t want to get involved, but I’m asking you plainly…will you please help me to help Harry? It might be his only hope.”

Draco reeled under what he’d been told. He’d read the papers when he’d reached Diagon Alley, and he’d heard the rumors on the streets, but he’d never imagined it sounding as real and as terrible as when Molly told him of it all. Harry Potter really was a killer, and an unrepentant one, too. He’d never thought of what Harry had lost; he’d been busy losing everything he had ever known.

Draco had lost his parents, his fortune and home, and even his sanity and health had been nearly torn from him, not to mention his life. He’d never have called himself innocent, until he was forced to realize just how innocent and naïve he’d really been. During all that he’d endured, it had never once occurred to him that The Boy Who Lived had suffered anything worse than bad press.

Molly wanted his help. The only person in the wizarding world who had been kind enough to help him, without any hope of reward or recompense, was asking him to risk Harry Potter’s wrath, to save The Savior Of The Wizarding World from himself.

And Draco said yes.

TBC!!!