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Harry's staring at his torso.
Draco knew it would be like this. It's why he never took his shirt off. Why he never let Harry see the destruction he'd caused; because his guilt is almost tangible in the air. It's almost a corporal thing that Draco can reach for.
He wishes he could, he wishes he could touch it, soothe it, make it better.
"Draco." Harry chokes out. "Draco," he repeats, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
He keeps saying sorry like a mantra, like it's being brutally forced out of him in waves, full of emotion and grief.
"Oh, Harry." Draco whispers, seeing his eyes shine. "No, don't cry, I forgave you before you were even sorry."
But that's not entirely true. Sometimes Draco wants to be angry at Harry, but he can't, so he just gets angry at himself instead. And maybe that's why he stares at his scars so often, because they've become a reminder that he's paying for the sins he's committed.
He wishes someone would tell him where to put the anger.
Draco lifts his hands up to Harry's face, gently cradling it and brushing his thumbs over his cheeks, catching the tears that keep spilling over his skin.
"Harry." Draco repeats his name, and it sounds awfully similar to how Harry kept repeating sorry; full of grief.
The irony of grief is that Draco knows he is the person Harry needs to talk to, but he also knows Harry could never be that selfish. Draco wonders when war ends. When can he say Harry's name and have it mean only his name and not everything he left behind?
"Harry, it's okay. We're okay now. Think of your guilt as a cage. The cage is open, Harry. You can walk out anytime you want. Why are you still here? Why are you still punishing yourself?" Draco asks, but it's not really a question. He knows why Harry won't ever forgive himself. It's the same reason Draco won't ever forgive himself either.
It's why he's become so bitter and untouchable. Draco's craved affection ever since he can remember, but now even the mere thought of someone caring makes his stomach churn.
Now all he's left with is a very childlike anger, and a very childlike loneliness.
"Harry, who's the real you? The person who did something awful, or the one who's horrified by the awful thing you did? Is one part of you allowed to forgive the other?"
"I don't know." Harry replies.
"Me neither." Draco says back softly, almost to himself.