Cicatrices- Marks That Remain

Ingredients From a Cupboard

"I think that I want to hear about how father died."

It was around one in the morning and Harry was more than halfway to falling asleep for the night when Draco shuffled out of his bedroom looking like a kicked puppy and sat down on the edge of Harry's transfigured sofa bed, eyes cast to the floor.

Harry sat up promptly, hand reaching blindly for his glasses, all of his attention turned to Draco.

"Okay... What brought this on?"

Draco remained silent for a long while, and Harry wondered if going to him was Draco's first or even second idea. It had been eight days since Harry had gone to him with the news, and Draco had not asked about it once until now.

"I..." Draco's voice died out for a moment. "I just want to know," he bit in a whisper, turning his head slightly towards Harry. His chest was heaving. "I'm his last living relative, aren't I? I deserve to know."

Harry could swear that, in the reflection of the moonlight, he could see that Draco's eyes were red, puffy, and glossed over with a film of tears. It was at that moment that Harry realised the fragility of the situation. He decided to tread carefully, lest he scare Draco back into his room for a week with only the sound of him locking his door dozens of times as a sign of life.

"What do you want me to tell you?"

"...Where was he found... How was he found... Was he already dead when you arrived...?"

"Okay... before I say anything, are you sure you want to hear this at one in the morning?"

Draco took a deep breath, seeming agitated. However, he paused.

"Just... just tell me. Where was he found?"

Harry took a deep breath. Of all of the murders, Lucius' was the most gruesome, and he didn't quite enjoy the idea of telling Draco all about it.

"He was found at Malfoy Manor."

Draco nodded, his eyes still directed toward the floor. He took another deep breath.

"Okay. Okay, that's-"

"He was the first one to get killed inside his own home. Everyone else including you was taken to a separate location."

"Oh."

The room fell silent, and Harry cringed as he remembered the sight of Malfoy Manor that day. It was difficult enough for him to stomach, he was thinking it wasn't best to give Draco too many details.

"How- er... what was done to him?"

Harry hesitated. "A lot."

"I want to know," said Draco.

"It was... really a lot, Draco-"

"Was it the same as me? ...Astoria?" The atmosphere took on a sombre tone, and Harry's heart squeezed in his chest.

"It... not exactly. But no two murders have been executed the same, except-"

"Except what?" Draco had snapped his head in Harry's direction now, red puffy eyes on full display. Harry stilled. Shit.

"Tell me, Potter."

"Er, well..." Harry motioned up and down his left arm. And before he could put it into words, Draco looked down to his own left arm, deflating. His right hand ghosted over the area where the dark mark is, Harry remembered seeing two long scars. He put his hand down.

"Oh."

Draco turned to the floor again, and Harry was wondering why now, of all times, Draco was so curious to know.