Never Have I Ever|| z.m

Trading Scars

"Come on. Just show me." Harry said, nudging my leg with his foot. We were alone, in his dorm and I was reading a book. We were supposed to be studying, but knowing Harry, I knew he wouldn't want to do that. Instead, I brought a book to pass my "studying time" with him. At the moment, he was trying to get me to show him my burn marks.

"Harry.." I muttered for the tenth time. He's known about them for nearly a month now and whenever we're alone, he tries to get me to show him them. He says its just so he knows he's not the only one. I think he wants to see them so he can confirm that I'm just as fucked up as he is.

"What?" He asked, tossing his legs down back onto the floor. Sitting up, he was closer to me. His left hand next to my right thigh on his bed.

"I'm not going to show you."

"Please?" He groaned.

"Damn, a please? This must be serious." I said slowly. Harry sighed. No retaliation. This was new. When I looked up at him, he had his hands over his eyes. When he removed them, he just looked tired. "Fine." He sat up. "If it means that much to you, fine." Harry smiled but it wasn't from triumph. It was a weary smile. "Just, not for so long." I said standing up and turning my back towards him and slowly exposing my back.

They were at the top, near my shoulder blades. I'm just glad they're not on my chest. There was no way in hell I was going to show those to Harry if they were. "My bra might be in the way." I muttered.

"It's not." Harry said lightly. Then I felt one hand against my hip. He pulled me backwards and I let him. The back of my legs hit his knees. His other hand traced the burn marks on my back. "They look like mine." I shrugged, still holding up my shirt.

"I suppose they all look the same." I murmured.

"What happened?" He asked, pulling my shirt down for me. I turned around and faced him, my face flushed.

"Well it was a long time ago I really don't..." He cut me off.

"You remember, come on." He said, encouragingly. I nodded and sighed.

"I was young, maybe six. It was back when, you know, gender didn't matter and girls and boys ran around not wearing shirts." Harry grinned, I shoved his shoulder so he wouldn't laugh. "What? You know it's true. Whatever, anyways." I said, starting up again. "He wasn't even particularly angry that day, or drunk. He was sober he was just, smoking." I shrugged.

"I remember hating the smell which is why I'm surprised I smoke now but I guess, it's in my blood." Harry gave me a tired smile. "So, it was one of those times when I was walking around without a shirt on, six years old, maybe seven and for the life of me, I can't remember where my mom was. I just knew she wasn't there, otherwise this would have never happened." I said, shaking my head. I paused and Harry motioned for me to continue.

"Well, I walked past him when I wasn't wearing a shirt and you know what he said to me?" Harry didn't try to guess. "He said, 'You ugly little whore.' And he grabbed my skinny little arm, yanked me around so my back was to him and stubbed his cigarette out on my back, twice because apparently once wasn't enough." I shook my head, laughing a bit nervously.

"I don't remember crying but I must have. Then he said something like 'Don't ever walk around without a shirt on again.' I was six years old! I didn't even know what a whore was!" I exclaimed. "I always wore a shirt after that. My mom never forgave herself for letting him hurt me like that." I said, shaking my head. "In pretty sure he's burned her several times too but I've never seen the scars. He beat us more than he burned us." Harry pursed his lips. I thought he might say something, instead he reached back behind him and pulled his shirt up over his head.