Cicatrices- Marks That Remain

Neville

Metal restraints around his wrists and ankles, tightening magically with every ounce of struggle and drawing blood as they did. Draco's captor stood far, face and body cloaked in black, head tilted as he stared.

"Scream. I dare you."

Ron had to pull Harry out less than ten minutes into watching the memory on account of Harry having been twitching 'like mad'.

"I think I'll have to pass up on that pint, Ron."

Harry was still blinking more rapidly than strictly normal, working to calm down and get his breathing back under control. Ron attempted a sort of smile that looked more like a pitiful grimace and clapped Harry on the back.

"Alright. We'll try again tomorrow."

"I'm sorry." Harry didn't know what else to say, really. He was still disoriented and quite shaken by the little he'd seen of the failed attempt at Draco's murder.

"Don't sweat it. And hey, tomorrow Mordecai will be there too. We can take turns."

Harry nodded absently, following Ron out of the office and turning off the light behind them.

Travelling home was a bit of a haze. Every moment that Harry had, he found his mind trailing back, thinking of all that he'd seen.

And that wasn't even close to halfway. Harry gathered that much because when he got pulled out, Draco still didn't look as severely mauled as he had when he was found.

Harry's night was less than pleasant, having been filled with what-ifs and flashbacks of what had happened. He got out of bed and ready for the day earlier than necessary the next morning, feet dragging to the Ministry as he rubbed at his eyes and attempted to suppress the eighth yawn of the morning.

The quicker he sorted through the memory and duplicated it, the faster he could return it.

But who would want to keep a memory like this?

When he arrived at the hospital, the first thing that happened was that he was gaped at by witches and wizards young and old, sick and healthy. He shook it off, making his way to the front desk and reporting as "the Auror assigned to patient Draco Malfoy's case, may I see him?" That was followed by "but of course, Mr. Potter. Yes, absolutely. Right this way." Harry, having not gotten nearly enough sleep to deal with this, dismissed her by stating "I know where his room is, thank you."

Despite it being nearly noon when Harry opened the door to that small room, he found Malfoy asleep. Well, I'd probably spend as much time sleeping as possible, too. Maybe even too much, he summed, and walked over to Malfoy's bed- Draco... Draco, Draco's bed. Harry observed the contrast between his hair and the pillow beneath him, noting how the sun once again made it shine with an uplifting yellow glow. He blinked, then shook his- warm- shoulder gently to wake him. Draco woke softly, turning to see just who had made him. I didn't think I'd ever associate Draco Malfoy with warmth.

His grey eyes still seemed a bit too dull, and his skin a bit too pale, for Harry. He swallowed, the realization that he really didn't like seeing Draco so unwell being packed neatly away for the moment being.

"Uhm..." Harry stammered, hastily pulling the now safely duplicated vial out from the pocket of his Auror robes and holding it up in front of the two of them. "It's been duplicated. You can have it back, now.

Harry told himself he was imagining things when he noted that Malfoy's face had fallen slightly, his face losing even more colour- as though that were possible. His lips formed a thin line and his nostrils flared. He gave a short nod, his eyes glazing over as though he'd just put a wall up between himself and the rest of the world.