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Sectumsempra - from 'seco - to cut' and 'semper - always'; an everlasting wound

Wednesday Morning, Breakfast

It seemed everyone had come down early for breakfast today.  Harry thought the Great Hall looked more full than usual.  Normally students would trickle in and out, sleeping in or cramming for exams, meeting up with friends before classes, or getting some fresh air.  Maybe today it was the blueberry pancakes.  Ron seemed to think they were worth getting up for, as he stuffed a third into his mouth.

"How're you doing, Harry?" he asked around a doughy bite. 

Truthfully, Harry hadn't slept well, nightmares of Malfoy and blood swirling in his mind again.  "Fine," he lied.  Ron looked at him suspiciously.

"You don't look fine."

Hermione glanced up from her notes that were spread around a more modest helping of pancakes.  "I imagine he doesn't feel fine, either."  She could always tell when he was just saying what they wanted to hear.  She followed Harry's gaze over to the Slytherin table, and pursed her lips.  "He hasn't come down yet."

It had been a week since Malfoy disappeared into the Hospital Wing with Snape.  At first, Harry had just been filled with righteous indignation.  He’d only been defending himself.  All that detention, missing Quidditch, Snape calling him a liar - it wasn’t fair.   He'd have never used that spell if he'd known, unlike Malfoy, who knew exactly what a Cruiciatus curse was. And Malfoy would be fine in the end, right?

But as the days passed, and Malfoy didn’t emerge, a sense of dread crept up on Harry.  What was taking so long?  Parkinson had been seen coming back and forth a few times, but she was tight lipped.  Now he was only waiting for the other shoe to drop.  He knew Malfoy wasn't dead, but that was all he knew.

Sighing, he turned back toward his friends.  "The more I think about it, the worse I feel."

"For the last time, he was going to Crucio you, Harry.  He got what he deserved.  Ow!"  Hermione gave Ron a smack on the shoulder.

"No one deserves to be hexed bloody, Ronald."

Harry agreed.  "I was so caught up in the Prince's book, and the adrenaline of the fight, and..." And Ginny, his mind added.  She was thankfully at the far end of the table.  He couldn't deal with three concerned people, two was enough.  "I just didn't realise until he'd been gone so long, how badly I must have hurt him."

Hermione laid her hand on his.  "Pansy's been taking notes for him, so he must be coming back eventually.  She’s made quite a fuss about the extra work."

"Yeah."  Harry lapsed into silence.  He’d give anything to see Malfoy among the Slytherins, pale and worried as he had been the last few months.  Reaching past Hermione, he grabbed some food from the middle of the Gryffindor table.  He'd had little appetite the past couple of days, but as Hermione told him last night at dinner, starving himself wouldn't take back what he'd done. 

As Harry tucked into his bacon, a hush went over the Hall.  It took him a minute to notice, and by the time he turned to see what everyone else was looking at, all four tables had broken out in agitated whispers.

There, coming through the doorway, was Malfoy. 

Harry had to crane his neck around Seamus to see him, and by the time he had a view, Malfoy's back was to the Gryffindors.  He made his way stiffly to the Slytherin part of the room, to sit at his house table, on the side that would present his back to most of the Hall.  But there was no room on that side, and hesitantly, Malfoy made his way around to the other, and sat facing out into the Hall.

Sat facing Harry.

And oh, god, his face.

Tuesday Evening, one week prior, Gryffindor common room

"Harry, if that ferret face is really up to something, you'll find out eventually, and you'll beat him at it.  You always do."

Yet again, Ron was trying to engage Harry in a game of chess, and yet again, Harry was distracted by the Marauders Map. 

"Hellllllo?  Anybody home in there?"

Harry stared at the map.  Malfoy’s dot was down in the Slytherin dungeons.  "Why do you still call him that?" he asked absently.

"Huh?"

"He doesn't really look like a ferret."

Ron boggled.  "He's a pointy git, mate.  Pale and twitchy.  Definitely a ferret."

Privately, Harry thought that Malfoy just looked tired.  His perpetual sneer was often gone these days, replaced by a troubled gaze.  His eyes were hollow, and he almost fell asleep in class several times.  When his eyes closed, his long lashes touched dark circles.  His hair had grown out over the year without being cut and he no longer slicked it back, so it fell across his face, adding to the shadows.  If Harry was honest with himself, Malfoy looked delicate.  Not like a girl, no - Malfoy had a couple inches on him, to Harry's consternation, and his shoulders had broadened, too.  He'd grown into his pointy features, even if Ron didn't see that.  Of course, Ron didn't spend hours basically stalking him.

If he was deeply, truly honest with himself, Harry knew he'd spent enough time watching Malfoy to realise he was, at least objectively, very attractive. 

But Malfoy had really let himself go, and it only made Harry certain there was something going on.  He'd always seemed like such a vain boy.  And maybe he did, admittedly, have something to be vain about.  That just made his behavior more alarming.  And Harry became more suspicious every time he saw Malfoy without his trademark arrogance, and instead with a haunted expression.

Wednesday Morning, Breakfast

Malfoy had absolutely no expression as he served himself a pancake at the Slytherin table.  His housemates openly gaped, but he gave them no reaction.  He was silent and dead-eyed. 

Harry thought he was going to be sick.

Because across that expressionless face were two terrible scars.

One started on the bridge of his nose, although Harry supposed if he could see it up close, it might actually begin at the corner of Malfoy's left eye.  Merlin, he was lucky he hadn't been blinded.  The line continued down at an angle, under his right eye and across that high, perfect cheekbone, fading near the jaw.  A second cut, more vertical, began on the left side of his nose and slashed through his mouth - about half an inch from his Cupid's bow on the top, and nearly through the center of the plump bottom lip.  Harry had seen him biting it, worrying the skin with nervous teeth all though the year.  Now Malfoy just held his mouth in a firm line, staring out into space, ignoring all the whispers that were increasing in volume.

There was another healing cut running across his neck and disappearing over his collarbone under his robes, darker in colour than the pale ones on his face.  Harry couldn't imagine what his chest looked like.  There had been so much blood.  How had he not slit Malfoy's throat open?  How close had he come to committing murder?  How on earth was he not expelled or under arrest?

Whatever else he was, whatever else he had let himself become involved in, however hateful he could be both inside and out, Malfoy had at least one thing going for him.  He had been beautiful.  And Harry had taken that away from him.

To his right side, Seamus was talking along with the other Gryffindors.  "Blimey, what the hell happened to him?"  They, and many of the students in the Hall, were looking back and forth between Malfoy and Harry.  Vague rumors of their fight had spread.  But it had been so many days, and Malfoy’s injuries were worse than those expected from a schoolboy dustup resulting in mere detentions, so there was some confusion as to what was actually going on.

Harry choked down the bite of bacon that had been sitting his mouth ever since he caught sight of Malfoy.  Hermione whimpered, and reached over to squeeze his hand, but Harry yanked it away. 

"Oh my god, what have I done?" he said softly.

"Shhh!" Ron hushed him.  "Not here."  Harry went to get up, but Hermione yanked him down.  "That's going to look really suspicious."

And so Harry endured through the rest of breakfast, just as Malfoy endured the rising voices of speculation.

Wednesday Evening, one week prior, Gryffindor common room

“The book isn’t dangerous, Hermione!  The Prince was taking notes, it wasn’t an instruction.  I just shouldn’t have used that spell!”

“You’re just guessing, Harry.  For all you know it was a spell that he or she had already used!”

“We can sit around and speculate all day,” Ginny chimed in, “but what we do know is that Harry successfully defended himself in a duel.  That’s really what matters, isn’t it?”

Hermione shook her head.  “I don’t know.  Harry, the way you describe that spell seems like Dark Magic.  It’s offensive, not defensive.  It was like an invisible sword, you said?  Wouldn’t something to protect you from enemies push them away, or bind them or something?  Not just slash at them with no rhyme or reason?”

“It didn’t slash everywhere, just Malfoy.”

“But you said it caught him in the chest and the face, right?  Not just one cut?”

Harry swallowed.  “There was a lot of blood.”

“But Snape came in and stopped it yeah?”  Ron didn’t seem to want to contribute much to the conversation, looking terrified of Hermione and Ginny both.

“Yeah, Ron.  He stopped it.”  He’d also forbade Myrtle from speaking about the incident - although what you could threaten a ghost with, Harry wasn’t sure.

“Either way, you’ve gotten rid of the book, and Snape took care of Malfoy, so you’re safe now, Harry.”  Ginny laid a hand on his shoulder, which he somehow found less reassuring than it should be.  “It’s just a shame about Quidditch.”

Wednesday Morning, Charms corridor

As soon as Hermione deemed it safe, with about a third of their table gone, Harry fled from the Great Hall with her and Ron close behind.  By the time they were nearly to Charms, Harry was practically hyperventilating, as his two best friends discussed Malfoy's wounds.

"Why didn't Pomfrey heal him?  I thought you said Snape stopped the bleeding pretty fast."

"Certain magical injuries don't heal, Ron."

"Like werewolf scratches."

"Yes, or -" she looked at Harry's forehead, then quickly looked away "- or curse scars."

"I cursed him," Harry gasped out.  "Merlin's beard, I cursed someone.  They're going to lock me away in Azkaban."

"Hush, you know they won't.  You would have been arrested already."

"That doesn't make it ok!" 

"Keep your voice down!" she hissed.  "No, it does not make it ok.  This is one of the worst things you've ever done, Harry."

"'Mione!  Don't make him feel worse!"

She looked at Harry sympathetically.  "I don't think I can make him feel worse."  

Harry shook his head.  "I don't think anything could, right now."

"You know what you have to do, Harry." 

"What can I do?  Is there a cure?"  There was something he could do?  Hermione always knew how to fix things. 

"No, not that I know of.  Harry, you have to apologise to him."

Tuesday evening, this week, Gryffindor common room

"... so anyways, I'm sorry."

Ginny flipped her hair over her shoulder.  It wasn't a calculated gesture, like on some girls, and Harry appreciated that.  "I understand you have a lot on your mind, Harry.  I just thought, after everything, you could talk to me about it."

After kissing me, he knew she meant.  The high emotions in the room after the Quidditch match had made it seem like a great decision at the time.  But after that faded, and Malfoy’s absence grew longer, Harry had pulled back from Ginny and further into his own anxiousness.  And he didn't think he could discuss his feelings of guilt with her, not with the way she's defended his actions to Hermione.  He felt more distant from Ginny than ever, now, but he knew she wanted more.  Sure enough, she reached her hand out.  Harry didn't think he could deal with intimate gestures right now.  So he backed away, and she frowned.

"I know, Gin.  And like I said, I'm sorry I avoided you the last couple of days."

"This always happens, though, doesn't it?"  She seemed resigned.  "You don't feel close enough to come to me with problems.  We dance around this, but it's not really going anywhere, is it?"

Harry didn't want to tell her she was right, because what if she wasn't?  What if someday things finally did completely click between them?  But it wasn't fair to ask her to wait around indefinitely while he figured things out.

And he said so.

Although obviously disappointed, Ginny nodded.  "That might be the first honest thing you've said to me for some time."

They both stared into the fireplace for a while.  Finally Harry sighed.

"I just, I feel so nervous, waiting."

"Waiting for what?  Harry, if nothing has happened to you yet, nothing probably will."

How could he explain he was waiting for Malfoy?  

Thursday afternoon, outside the Great Hall

Harry was waiting for Malfoy after lunch.  He'd still been numb with shock on Wednesday, and had skipped breakfast today with a bad case of nerves, but he was ready to apologise to Malfoy now. 

Probably should have talked this out with Hermione, but here goes, he thought.

“Malfoy!” he called out as he caught sight of blonde hair.

Instantly, Harry found his way blocked by a mass of Slytherins: Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Nott, Zabini and somewhat surprisingly, Daphne Greengrass, who never participated in confrontations. 

“Move on, Potter,” she said coldly.

“I just wanted to talk to him.”

“You aren't talking to any of us.  You're just as nasty as we always thought, and we'd like to avoid you.”

Crabbe and Goyle looked murderous.  Harry squared his shoulders and stood firm.  “I wanted to apologise.”

Pansy, who was stroking Malfoy’s arm in a soothing gesture, let out a high, brittle laugh.  “Apologise?  Just sweep it away like that?”

“No, I… I didn't mean it to happen.  I-”  Why had he approached without going over the words he planned to say?

“You just rush in and blunder around, Potter,” Greengrass cut him off, unknowingly voicing his own thoughts.  Who made her the Slytherin spokesperson anyways?  Harry could barely recall them saying two words to each other in the past. “We don't want any part of your antics.  Leave us alone.  Leave Draco alone.”

The boy in question kept his gaze turned toward the ground.  His timidity seemed so wrong to Harry, on top of the wrongness of his behavior all year.  “Malfoy, I mean it.  I'm sorry.”

The Slytherins moved past Harry as a unit.  Unable to resist a parting jab, Pansy turned back around.  “You're lucky he didn't do worse to you.”

Two months ago, Gryffindor boys dormitory bathroom

Harry wondered if his scarred body would get worse in the coming war.

Everyone else in the dorm had gone to bed, but after having trouble sleeping for the third night in a row, Harry had decided to take a shower while he had the bathroom to himself.  Sometimes the hot water made him sleepy.  His fingers had drifted south for a leisurely wank, but as he’d looked down, he couldn’t stop staring at his hand.  Specifically, the faint writing there.  His last nightmare had been about Fifth Year.  It was enough to make him lose his erection, and he quickly finished washing and dried off.  As he stood in front of the mirror, he took stock of all his other scars.

There was the mark from the basilisk, whose fang had pierced him in second year.  He was proud of that one.  It showed bravery, something he’d done on his own, rather than something that was done to him.  He couldn’t say that about the long line down his arm where Pettigrew had cut him, or the white outline of his own handwriting, left by Umbridge’s Blood Quill.  They all paled next to the one he was famous for, of course.  The one he would never escape.

Someday, somewhere, he would likely end up fighting Voldemort and his Death Eaters.  Would there be weapons, or magic only?  Would he come out of it unscathed?  Harry doubted that.  He always ended up bloody in the Hospital Wing simply from normal school antics, he couldn’t possibly emerge from a fight for his life with no injuries.  He only hoped it wasn’t too dreadful.  He peered closely, trying to see if his nose was still slightly crooked after Malfoy had stomped on him.  That’s all he needed.

Harry knew that people saw his lightning scar and treated him differently, but it wasn’t because they found it attractive.  It was because they knew the story behind it.  Idly, he wondered what it would take to make people look away from his face rather than stare.

Thursday night, Gryffindor boys dormitory bathroom

His attempted apology had gone over badly, and Harry found himself unable to sleep.  So once more, he retreated to the showers after his dormmates started to snore.

He’d tried not to stare at dinner, he really had.  Malfoy probably had enough of that from the rest of the school.  But it was so hard to look away from his face.  Harry wanted to know what it felt like, if they were still painful, if the gash in his mouth had made it hard to eat.  He knew it was absolutely none of his business, and he shouldn't insult Malfoy by asking him those questions. 

After his shower, he stood in front of the mirror and ran his fingers over his scars as he had a few months back.  This time he tried to imagine himself with the marks he’d made on Malfoy.

Somehow, Harry thought he would look a lot worse.  He’d already admitted to himself that Malfoy was good looking, and he realised with a jolt that his injuries didn’t change that.  They didn’t change it at all, actually.  The pale scars drew Harry’s attention to Malfoy’s grey eyes, to his pouting mouth, to his regal jaw line. 

As he stared at his own naked chest in the mirror, he tried to picture what Malfoy’s must look like, and it was that thought that made him snap out of his musings before they turned even more disturbing.  Wondering what Malfoy looked like shirtless?  Definitely time for bed.  He was going to be exhausted in Potions as it was.

And yet, after he climbed under the covers, he couldn’t help but pull out the map and look at Malfoy’s sleeping dot one last time.

Saturday night, Astronomy Tower

It was only an hour to curfew, but Harry was creeping through the halls with a destination in mind.  The past two days, he’d tried to get Malfoy alone to apologise for real, but was blocked at every turn by his Slytherin housemates.  Finally, after practically refusing to put the map down all evening, he noticed Malfoy’s name move up to the Astronomy Tower.  And there was no one else within a floor.

Sliding past the open door, Harry looked up the last flight of stairs that led to the observation area, and caught sight of Malfoy. He went up the stairs, making enough noise as to not startle the other boy.  Sure enough, he turned, and sighed when he saw it was Harry.

“You again.”

“Are you alone? Harry asked, playing dumb about his map.

“Who else would I be with?

“I dunno, most people seem to come up to the Astronomy Tower with someone.”

“Don’t be cliche, Potter.  I’m stargazing, if you must know.”

“Huh, I didn’t realise anyone actually did that here,” Harry attempted to joke.  His laugh was stilted, and Malfoy glared at him. 

“You’ve finally managed to track me down.  Here to have another go?”

“No!”  Harry was horrified that Malfoy could even think that of him.  “I’ve been trying to get you alone so I could apologise properly.  I feel awful about what happened.  I didn’t know what that spell did, Malfoy, I swear.”

“Where did you learn it then?”

“In a book.  Hermione said it’s Dark Arts, but I had no idea.  I would never do that to anyone, even you.”

Malfoy huffed.  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?  You were ignorant, so it’s ok that I’m maimed?”

“It’s not ok!  I’m so, so sorry!”

Shaking his head, Malfoy turned away.  “Fine, Potter.  You’re sorry.  You’ve told me.  You can run along to your tower and feel better about yourself, now.”

“I’ll never feel good about doing this to you.  It was terrible.”  Cringing, Harry approached cautiously.  “Do you want to get revenge on me?”

Malfoy drew a deep breath in, held it, and exhaled slowly, like he was counting to ten.  “Just forget about it, Potter.  It’s done.”

Harry was confused.  He couldn’t imagine that Malfoy would ignore the opportunity to curse him in return.  They’d been fighting the entire time they knew each other.  He waited for the other shoe to drop, and minutes passed in silence while Malfoy stared up at the sky.  Finally Harry couldn’t take it anymore.

“What are you looking at?”

“Are you still here?”

Harry waited some more, and at length Malfoy answered.  “Draco.”

He was looking at himself?  Or he wanted Harry to call him his first name?  “Huh?”

“The constellation, Potter.  Draco.  The dragon that circles the North Star.”

All those years ago, Ron had laughed at Malfoy’s name, and Harry never even knew where it came from.  “I didn’t know you were named after a star.” 

“Not a star, a constellation.  It’s circumpolar.”  At Harry’s blank look, he continued.  “It never sets.  You can always see it.”

“Oh.”  Harry glanced up at the sky, but had no idea what he was looking for.  He realised he’d come up very near Malfoy, almost over his shoulder.  The closeness made him feel like his blood was fizzling.  “Can you point it out?”

Malfoy furrowed his brow.  “I suppose.”  He made room at the window, and stretched out one arm over the ledge.  “Do you know Ursa Major?”

“I only got an A in Astronomy.  I think I’ve forgotten most of it.  The OWL was mostly on the planets and the seasonal stars.”

“It’s the Potions Ladle, Potter, most children know it.”

Harry bit back a retort.  He wasn’t here to start an argument, after all; just the fact that Malfoy was talking calmly with him was a step in the right direction.  Also, he did recall the Ladle.  “You mean the Big Dipper?”  He pointed his own arm out.  “There?”

“You aren’t completely useless, I suppose.  Well, look straight left from the end of the ladle, to that square of stars.”

“Hmm… ok, got it.”  He didn’t actually think he was looking in the right place.  The stars all looked like a jumble of squares and crosses.

“That’s the head of the dragon.  It curves up, then down, then around Polaris.”

“Is that another constellation?”

“It’s the proper name of the North Star.”  Malfoy set his arm down and leaned on the ledge.  “Most important stars have names as well as astronomical designations.”

“Right.  I mostly just remember the zodiac stars from class.  Muggles have those, too.”

“Those are important in spell creation.  Other ones are useful in Divination, if you lay stock in that sort of thing.” 

“I got a P in Divination.”

“I never liked it, either.”  Malfoy’s eyes darted around at that, as if a group of Slytherins might jump out from behind a balustrade to judge him for agreeing with Harry Potter.

Harry wanted to keep him talking.  “Is that why your parents named you Draco, then?  Because it’s a never-setting dragon?  Like, a strength thing?”

“It’s actually not a Malfoy name.”

Harry was puzzled.  “Whose name is it?”

“My mother is a Black.  Many of them are named for stars or constellations.”  He pointed up again.  “The cross there, that’s Cygnus.  My grandfather was Cygnus Black.”

Harry still didn’t see any shapes among the twinkling stars, but he did remember something that made him tense up.  “You’re on the tapestry.”

“The what?”

“The tapestry, in Grimmauld Place.  With the Black family tree.”

“When were you in the Black house, Potter?”

Swallowing, Harry admitted, “With Sirius Black.”

Malfoy’s scarred mouth fell open in surprise, which he quickly covered up.  “Sirius is a star in Canis Major.”

“Maybe you could point that one out to me?”

“You can’t see it right now.  It moves around more than Draco.  It is the brightest star in the night sky, though.”

Somehow, that thought was comforting. 

“I wonder if the Potter’s have any naming traditions.  Do you think you’ll keep it going?  The star thing?”

The sound Malfoy made was probably meant to be a laugh, but came out strangled.

"You've probably ended the Malfoy line, you know," he said with less emotion than such a statement warranted.  "What woman would want to marry this?"  He gestured at his face.

So they were going to talk about it, after all. 

"I never hated magic until now," Harry whispered, looking out over the grounds, keeping his eyes downward.  Malfoy could have the stars.  "One split second, of a spell I never even heard of before I read it in a book, and I've ruined the rest of your life."

"At least you didn't try to tell me 'it's not that bad, it won't matter' like Pansy did." 

Harry shook his head.  "I mean, if you're talking about... like, falling in love and getting married, I don't think it should matter to someone who loves you.  But it matters to you, and that's what's important."

"I never expected love to have anything to do with marriage, Potter.  It's generally a business transaction in my family.  I'm damaged goods now."

Hearing that just made Harry feel even sorrier for Malfoy.  "I think that sounds terrible," he admitted.

Malfoy pursed his lips in irritation, but Harry was strangely happy to be drawing at least some expression out of him tonight.  "Well, I guess you've saved me from that fate, hmm?"

They stood side by side in silence, until Harry felt like he had to speak up.

"It doesn't mean anything coming from me, I know, but... I think you're still..."  What did Harry say here?  Handsome? Beautiful?  "I think you're still good looking."

Malfoy appeared stunned, and shook it off, schooling his features back into something resembling the sneer he used to wear.  "Still?  Something you want to tell me, Potter?"

Harry went red.  "I didn't mean it like that!"

"No?  How did you mean it?"

Honestly, Harry wasn't sure how he meant it.  Because there was objectively knowing Malfoy was an attractive bloke, and then there was seeing him, bathed in dappled moonlight, his hair glinting almost white, his large eyes reflecting the stars and his scars washed out like an afterthought.  He really liked looking at Malfoy in this moment. 

He went the coward's route.  "Everyone knows you're good looking, Malfoy.  It's like an accepted fact.  Girls say so, at least."

Now Malfoy was bemused.  "Accepted by whom?  Don't think I haven't heard what you Gryffindors call me.  And girls in my house don't count, they want my money."

"You can be rich and pretty, I suppose."  Harry wanted to fling himself off the tower.  What was he saying?

But Malfoy laughed, a sharp and happy sound, and Harry was suddenly glad he'd said it. 

"Harry Potter thinks I'm pretty.  My, things are looking up."

"Shut up, you git," Harry smiled, with no anger behind the words. 

They were quiet for a bit more, while Harry snuck glances over at Malfoy.  Now that he'd admitted to himself he liked it, he couldn't stop doing it.  And the scars at Malfoy's collarbones kept drawing his attention.

Malfoy sighed.  "Do you want to see?"

"Wh- what?  See what?"  Malfoy was already unbuttoning his shirt.  "Oh my god, what are you doing?"

"I saw you looking.  Do you want to see the rest?"

Any anticipation Harry felt at seeing more pale skin was suddenly smothered in shame. 

"If you want me to feel even worse, yeah.  Although," he added, lest Malfoy think he was trying to get out of owning up to his mistakes, "I probably should feel as bad as I can."

But Malfoy shook his head.  "It's not to punish you.  I can tell you're curious."  He seemed oddly detached to Harry, who was anything but.  His heart was leaping into his throat.

Here he was, on the Astronomy Tower with Malfoy, who was undressing.

When all the buttons were undone, Malfoy pulled his shirt open, and Harry made a choked, crying sound.

He'd absolutely torn Malfoy apart.

The scar on his neck that was visible before he'd stripped went across a collarbone, which must have been exposed through the skin before healing.  After that were multiple gashes, some small and some big, in a spiderweb of pain all across his chest.  The ones centered on his sternum were the worst.  Unlike the ones on his face, they were dark pink, and several were raised, twisting the skin into ridges.  It was almost as if the wounds had burst open, rather than being cleanly sliced.  One went through the flat of Malfoy's left areola - another centimeter and he’d be missing a nipple.  They turned paler and shallower on his taut stomach, and although he was standing very composed, Harry could see a nervous twitch in the muscle there.  Finally, one long scar hooked down toward his hip like the tail of a comet, and angled back upwards, almost as if the spell had truly been a blade and had been turned by the bone.  That was the lowest one, however, and the slight trail of blonde hair that lead down under Malfoy's navel was untouched.

He caught Harry's eyes traveling lower and said, "Good thing you aim high, or you most definitely would have ended the Malfoy line.”

"How can you joke about this?" Harry asked with panic in his voice.  "I could have slit your throat!"

Malfoy shrugged.  "It's over, now."

"It's not over!  You'll look like this for the rest of your life!"  The hurt expression on Malfoy's face doubled Harry's guilt. 

"I thought you said I was still pretty."  The tone was sarcastic, but the question was sincere, Harry could tell.

"You are still pretty," Harry said softly, not caring how that sounded now.  "It's just, you'll never be able to forget this."

They stood facing each other on the tower while the wind blew through their hair, and Harry looked his fill.  He hadn't lied.  Scars or not, Malfoy was nothing but pretty.  Milk-white skin, dusky pink nipples that were hardening in the cold, hollows in his collarbones that begged to be tasted.  It was a novel thought, but once in his mind, Harry couldn’t shake it.

Harry didn't even realise he was reaching out until his hand was halfway there, and he dropped it abruptly.

Malfoy looked at him oddly, and licked his lips.  "You can touch if you want," he said, so quietly Harry almost lost it on the breeze. 

Raising his hands again, Harry trailed one finger down the highest scar.  "Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Did- Did it hurt?  When it happened?"

Malfoy nodded.  "Like fire."

Harry made that funny, almost crying sound again, and put the whole flat of his hand on Malfoy's chest.  He could feel the heartbeat fluttering there.  "I wish I could take it back.  You didn't deserve this."

"Well, like I said, it's over now."

"It's good that it doesn't still hurt."

Shaking his head, Malfoy backed away from Harry's hand, just before his fingertips found a hardened bud.  "That's not what I meant.  Everything is over.  All of it."

"I don't understand."

"Don't you?  Tell me Harry, why have you been following me around?  What were you accusing me of in the bathroom?"

"I thought you were up to something."

"And now?"

Even though Harry felt guilty beyond belief for the damage and pain he'd caused Malfoy, he couldn't deny his suspicions.  The scars didn't change anything from before.

"I still think you're up to something.  I think Voldemort gave you a task."

Malfoy nodded.  "And have you thought about why you haven't been charged with assault?"

The question knocked Harry back.  "Would you?"  Malfoy shook his head.

"No.  But it happened on school grounds, that's not my call.  Nothing happened to you except detentions, because no one can know about this."

"Yeah, Snape told me not to tell anyone."

"And I'm sure you immediately told those friends of yours.  But do you know why Snape wants it kept secret?"

Harry was reluctant to admit it.  "Dumbledore is protecting me."

"No.  Dumbledore is protecting me."

The statement is made with such confidence Harry doesn't bother to argue.  "Why?"

"This is an unusual curse, Potter.  I'm very lucky that Snape knew the counter.  He stopped the bleeding before I went to the Hospital Wing, so all Madam Pomfrey had to do was apply paste overnight to make sure the wounds didn’t reopen.  I didn't even have to take off my shirt.  He lied, you know.  Snape.  He told her I'd touched a cursed object in his study.  An assault of this kind by another student would have to be reported to the Board, after all."

"Like I said, protecting me."

"Ah, but if it was reported, healed or not, they would make me give evidence.  Probably at St. Mungo's.  Probably without my shirt."

"What's the big deal about your shirt?" Harry asked, before he remembered.   Madame Malkins. 

Malfoy was shrugging the open shirt off his shoulders, down his right arm...

... and then his left.

And there it was, a snake curling down from a skull, the fangs poised to strike.

The Dark Mark.

After all this time believing it, now Harry was sick at being right.

"You're a Death Eater."

Malfoy nodded.

"I'm a Death Eater."

Suddenly frightened, Harry reached for his wand, and trained it with a shaking hand on Malfoy, who only looked disappointed.

"My wand is in my robes, I'm standing in front of you half-naked, I just told you my secret voluntarily, and your precious Dumbledore already knows.  What do you think I'm planning to do to you?"

Harry looked down at his wand and trembling fingers and thought randomly, I was just touching his bare skin with that hand.  "I don't know what to think.  You have to kill someone to be a Death Eater, Malfoy."

"Well, I haven't killed anyone yet, so I guess standards are slipping."

"Yet?!"

"I was supposed to kill Dumbledore."

And there it is, thrown out so casually by this strange, calm version of Malfoy -  the answer to all of Harry's sleepless nights these past few months. 

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you've given me an out, Potter." Malfoy grinned, a little maniacally.  "You've saved me."

With a start, Harry realised that’s what he wanted, deep down.  Maybe not at first, when he was still so angry with Malfoy, and determined to prove he was scheming.  But certainly since he’d seen him re-emerge from the Hospital Wing, wounded and silent.  And it wasn’t just because he’d been to one to injure Malfoy.  It was because it was somehow wrong for the snarky boy to be so muted.

Still, he didn’t lower his wand.  One moment he’d been softly touching Malfoy, learning the feel of his skin, and the next he was staring at a Dark Mark and hearing plans of murder.  It was completely overwhelming, and not a little scary.

“How have I saved you?  And how were you planning on killing Dumbledore?  Is that what the necklace or the mead was for?  You couldn’t take him in a duel.”

“I was going to catch him unawares or weakened.  You don’t need to know the details, but I didn’t plan on being alone.  I was going to have backup, other Death Eaters.”  Harry shivered at the thought of which Death Eaters that might include.  “I’m not stupid, though.  There were supposed to be others to watch me, to make sure I did it, not just to help me out.”

Harry tried to puzzle through what all this meant.  “Why did it have to be you?”

Malfoy was still glaring at the wand.  “Snape told me, it’s not that He trusts me.  It’s that He’s punishing my family.  He expects that I might fail.  If I don’t, then fine, He’s got another good little servant.  If I do, then there will others here to try, and I’m expendable.  Well, that was the plan.  For god’s sake, Potter, you can put that down.”

Slowly, Harry lowered his wand.   “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you don’t seem to be planning a murder anymore.  But what do your injuries have to do with it?”

“If I refused the task, or failed in the attempt and returned, the Dark Lord would kill me, and possibly my parents.  But if I’m defeated, and put in prison, He’d wash his hands of me.  He doesn’t bother with useless people.  And defeated by Harry Potter, to boot.  You can't blame me for that.  You beat the Dark Lord when you were a baby.  And the hospital is good as prison.”

“The hospital?”

“It’s written all over my face, what you did to me.  I made sure my housemates knew - I told them it was a secret, but they won't be able to help gossiping among themselves - and I’ve been slowly getting weaker.”

Harry gasped.  “No!  I- it’s not that kind of curse, I thought-”

“Shhhh,” Draco reassured him.  “It’s not.  Once the bleeding stopped and the skin knit, it was over.  Don’t worry.  But people think it is.  And in a few days, I’ll faint in the common room, and Snape will take me out of Hogwarts.”

Everything was starting to become clear to Harry.  “You’re going to fake being injured worse than you are, to get out of your assignment.”  He thought back to the Buckbeak incident. Yeah, if anyone could pull off being worse off than he really was...

Malfoy grinned again.  “Snape is talking to my mother this weekend.  It’s all being worked out.  Dumbledore came to me in the Hospital Wing.  He said the extent of my injuries, the inability to hide them, and the strangeness of the curse presented him with an opportunity to help me.  I don’t honestly what’s going on with those two,” he added with a confused look.  “I can never tell what side Snape is on.  But in any case, Dumbledore would like to have two less people on the Dark Lord’s side, I’m sure.  Maybe Snape wants the glory for himself, maybe he really is a traitor.  I don’t know, and I don’t really care at this point.”

“Two less?”

"My mother and I.  After my dreadful ordeal, I’ll need round the clock care to keep from succumbing to the wasting effects of the curse.  She’ll send me to St. Mungo's to wait out the war.  Of course, the loss of her only son’s vigor and happiness to dark magic will no doubt break her.  She may end up there as well, for her nerves.  We'll be too weak to bother with.  We'll be safe.”

“What about your father?”  Malfoy’s face hardens.  “I can’t help him.  He dragged us into this mess, anyway.”  Even with such a conclusive statement, he seems conflicted, but Harry doesn’t push it. 

“It seems like big change of heart, Malfoy.”

Turning back out to the stars, Malfoy shrugged.  “When I found out that Dumbledore already knew about my task, it seemed pointless.  I don’t want be killed, Potter.  I only ever wanted for myself and my mother to live.  This is a way to do that.  In the end, I really care about myself more than ideals, from either side.”

That seemed more in line with the Malfoy he knew.  But Harry still had questions.  “You didn’t have to tell me all this.  You could have just disappeared.”

“Yes, but…”  Malfoy seemed to struggle to find the words.  Finally he turned back to Harry.  “You’re too noble for your own good.  You kept trying to apologise.  I see now that you feel so terribly, that if you heard I’d been committed, you’d eat yourself alive with guilt.  You got me out of this hell, however unwittingly, so I thought I owed you an explanation, at least.”

Harry put his wand in his back pocket again, in a blatant sign of trust.  “Thank you.  You’re right, I would have been beside myself if I thought I’d caused you to be hospitalised for the rest of your life.”

Malfoy nodded.  “So you see, it’s not the end of the world.”  He raised a fingertip to the scar across his cheekbone and traced it.  “I won’t lie, I wish they weren’t permanent.”

Boldly, Harry stepped back to where he’d been a few minutes before, when he’d run his hands down Malfoy’s chest.  “These ones are lighter.”

“Hmm, I think since you aimed at my chest, those ones are worse.  Maybe-” He broke off with a startled noise as Harry lifted his fingers to touch a nose, a cheek… a lip. 

Long moments passed while Malfoy’s eyes fell shut, and Harry stroked his cheeks.  It was too much.  Finding out everything he’d obsessed about the past few months, discovering what Malfoy looked like under his robes, the strange elation of knowing he’d never have to face the other boy on a battlefield; Harry though he might burst.  Unconsciously, he moved forward until he could feel Malfoy’s breath, and Malfoy tilted his head to lean into Harry’s touch.  Harry dropped his hands, and Malfoy’s eyes flew open.  Still, they stared at each other, inches apart.

“What the hell are we doing, Malfoy?” Harry whispered nervously.

“I didn’t think anyone would ever want to touch me again,” he whispered back.  “I somehow can’t bring myself to care that it’s you.”  The sad but hopeful look on Malfoy’s face broke Harry’s heart, and he leaned in without thinking.

Their lips met gently.  Harry could feel the delicate scars he’d slashed across Malfoy’s mouth with his own, and darted his tongue out to trace the bottom one.  Malfoy gasped softly, and the kiss deepened without either meaning for it to happen.  After a few heartbeats, Harry tentatively raised his hands to hold Malfoy’s shoulders.  It was so different from kissing Cho or Ginny, he thought.  Malfoy’s mouth was somehow sweeter, but his body was firm in Harry’s grasp.  They slowly moved closer until Malfoy was gripping Harry’s waist, and Harry’s arms were around Malfoy’s neck.  Wondering if he was dreaming, Harry opened his eyes to see Malfoy’s closed lids, and the reality of his situation slammed into him.  Glancing to the side, out the window, the stars caught his attention and he pulled back.

“Draco.”

If being kissed had thrown Malfoy for a loop, hearing his first name positively shocked him.  “Wha-what?”

“No, I mean… Draco.”  Harry pointed outwards.  “I can see it now.”  He didn't bother to let go of Malfoy's neck, and they stood holding each other for a minute while they both looked out at the stars.  Eventually they turned to each other again, and kissed several more times before pausing for breath.

“We’re snogging on the Astronomy Tower,” Harry laughed.  “So cliche.”

Malfoy bit his lip, and Harry felt a pang at how familiar he found the gesture.  “What is this, Potter?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

“I'm not gay.”

“I'm not, either.”

“I guess I'm... I don't know.  I haven't put much thought into it.  It's never been an option.”

Harry nodded.  “I never thought about it either, and I like girls.  But I notice you.  It's not just watching for something you're doing, now.  I've just been… watching you.”

Malfoy blushed, and Harry thought it was adorable.  When his skin pinked up, the pale scars stood out even more.  Harry thought they were lovely at that moment, and wanted to run his fingers down the white lines and tell him so, but he knew that complimenting the marks he had made was probably insensitive. 

Taking note of Harry's appraising gaze,  Malfoy smiled.  “You do think I'm pretty, don't you, Potter.”

Now it was Harry's turn to blush.  “I told you so.  And I'm not the only one, you know that.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Well, Pansy’s right, you know.  This won't matter to the right person.”  It didn't matter to Harry at all, and he wondered with a delicious thrill if that made him the right person.

“Pansy is in a Sapphic relationship with Daphne.  I hardly think her opinion on my appearance can be taken as truth.”

Harry was puzzled.  “A saph what?

Malfoy leaned down conspiratorially, bringing their lips close together again.  “They're gay, Potter.”

Harry laughed and kissed Malfoy again, giddy with the thought that now he was allowed to.  Another kiss, and he pulled back enough to ask, “And do you think I'm pretty?” 

Malfoy stared down at him for a long enough time that Harry began to get nervous.  Finally he answered, “It's not how I'd describe you, no.  But you are good-looking, Potter, to use your word.  I’ll always see you in a crowd, before anyone else.  And it’s not just because I’m watching for a hex.  Your eyes pierce into me.” 

He’d heard compliments about his eyes before, and they were always the same.  “People say I have my mother’s eyes, yeah.”

Draco sniffed.  “Well, I didn’t know your mother, so that’s not what I’m thinking.”  He casually brushed a lock of Harry’s hair off his forehead.  “They’re just so… green.”

“Like a fresh-pickled toad?”  Harry tried to joke.

“No.  Like… like leaves against a grey sky, just before a thunderstorm, when everything seems so vibrant.”

They simply held each other and breathed slowly, for what seemed like forever to Harry.  All his obsessive thoughts about Malfoy over the past few months started to make sense.  Yes, he’d suspected him, but he was also deeply attracted to him.  And after this conversation, he thought he could even like him.

“So, Potter, do you have an answer?  What is this?”

Harry drew on every last ounce of courage.  “I guess I fancy you, don’t I?

“Are you asking or telling me?”

“Telling.  I… I fancy you, Malfoy.”

Malfoy finally drew himself out of Harry’s embrace, and seemed to remember he was shirtless.  Suddenly self-conscious, he wrapped his arms around himself.

“You don’t have to hide,” Harry assured him.

“I know you seem to think you can look past them, but they’re still ugly.”  Drawing his finger along one scar that made a bump on his ribs, Malfoy frowned.  “They feel funny, too.”  Harry reached out, emboldened by all the kissing, and stroked across the scars on Malfoy’s ribs, on his chest, and the low one on his hip.  He let his hand come to rest there and drew circles with his thumb.  He tried very hard not to look at the Dark Mark. 

Malfoy peered at Harry, suspiciously.  “You have a saving people complex, Potter.  Is that why you suddenly find me so attractive?  Because I’m mutilated and about to turn traitor?”

“No!  I keep telling you, I liked the way you looked before.  These don’t make you less attractive, just… different.  I’m still so sorry I did it, but this, surviving and deciding not to work for Voldemort, it just makes you strong.  I like that.”

“Well, as we’ve discussed, I’m trying to see the silver lining here.”

“I like that about you, too.”

Malfoy nodded, and turned to gather his shirt.  Harry followed.  “Wait, so what is this to you?  Do you fancy me, too?” 

Shrugging into his sleeves, Malfoy sighed.  “I don’t know, Potter.  I do notice you.  I always have.  But this is intense, and new, and I never considered our dynamic in this way before.  I’m also still angry at you, even if it worked out.  I’ve been trying to play it cool.”  At Harry’s crestfallen expression, he put a hand out, foregoing his buttons.  “I know you didn’t mean it, now.  And this, tonight, was… enlightening.”  He grinned.  “I really enjoyed the snogging, at least.”

Harry laughed gratefully.  “I really enjoyed that, too.”  He reached out and laced his fingers through Malfoy’s longer ones.  “You have to go soon, don’t you.”

“It is almost curfew.”

“No, I mean, leave Hogwarts.  Go into hiding.”

Malfoy nodded.  “That’s the plan, yes.”

“Can I.. can I see you?  In St. Mungos?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.  You’d only draw attention to my mother and I.”  Harry nodded, disappointed, and Malfoy looked thoughtful.  “You can owl me, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.  And I do expect to see you on the other side of this.”  Malfoy rolled his eyes.  “Nothing seems to kill you.  Basilisks, dragons, Dementors, you always get away.  I don’t know why the Dark Lord even wants to bother.”

Harry’s smile was bright as a lumos.  “I expect to see you, too.  You get to laze about in a private room, probably eating chocolates and ordering the Healers around.  It’s very you.”

“Well, we do what we must.”

In a gesture full of sweetness Harry didn’t even realise he had in him, he started to button Malfoy’s shirt.  He straightened Malfoy’s collar, and looked him in the eye.  “I’m going to kiss you now, and it’s not goodbye.  I’ll kiss you again when it’s all over.”

“Well, stop talking and get on with it, then.”

They met in the middle, and kissed until they would both be late for curfew, as the constellations glittered overheard.  Harry couldn’t read the future in the stars, but he could feel it in his hands.