Cicatrices- Marks That Remain

God's Will

A/N: Happy Sunday, my folks! I am publishing TWO chapters Today. This is the Second of the two chapters.

To be clear, chapters 29-33 all occur over the course of the same singular day. Currently, you are at Chapter 32.

Please, let me know what y'all think, and, as always...

Enjoy!!

Warning: graphic depictions/discussion of self-harm, scarring, and poor body image.

After returning from St. Mungo's, after Draco had excused himself and retreated to his room, Harry couldn't help but sag with the weight of exhaustion. Something in the back of his mind told him that he should make an effort to check of Draco was okay. He was behaving abnormally, and Harry didn't fault him for it. But, Harry knew he wouldn't be of much help in the state he was in- cold, weary, feeling defeated, and with a steadily strengthening headache. He sank into his unmade couch-transfigured-bed and tugged off his clothes. He fell asleep to the sound of the shower running.

Harry rushed into the wooden shack, following closely behind Ron. He stopped abruptly at the sight before him. Zabini's skin was splotchy with pink and red blistering burns. Along his lower abdomen was a long, deep, and imprecice cut that looked folded open, revealing zabini's innards. The christogram of his blood was dripping down the wall. Harry felt sick.

Every time Harry caught sight of the body again, it would be an entirely different one. Astoria Greengrass with crushed limbs, Gregory Goyle with a marred face, Pansy Parkinson with gaping, pink and red gaps where her eyes should have been, Draco, with missing fingers, crushed feet, and gashes pouring blood from his body-

Harry woke with a gasp, sitting up, his breathing erratic. As soon as he regained his bearings, he out his hand to his face, trying to wipe the images from his mind. As he forced himself to settle, swallowing breaths, he noticed his wand- lying haphazardly beside him in his sofa-transfigured-bed- vibrating. It was once briefly, at first, then constant. Harry sat up in bed, trying to come to awareness enough to piece together...

He thought he was wrong- He had to be wrong. His wand was alarming him to harm having come to Draco- paired to him at the start of his protection, it had never gone off. Harry had hoped it never would- he jumped up, taking in his surroundings instantly.

The flat was still.

Socked feet padded over to the front door.

Locked.

Harry held out his hand, accioing a T-shirt and putting it on. He went towards Draco's room, wand at the ready. He knocked.

"Draco?"

Nothing.

The wand vibrating loudly in his hand made dread form a deep, gargling in his stomach. Something was very, very wrong.

Harry put both hands to the door handle and mustered the strongest Alohamora he could muster. The door opened with a start.

Illuminated by the glow of light filtering in from the rest of the flat, Draco was kneeled on the floor, his left forearm sliced open and limp in front of him. Draco swayed, unfocused.

All at once, Harry was on the floor beside him, wiping at the blood on his arm to clearly see the wound. He held his wand over the wound, feeling Draco sway more. Harry shut his eyes tight in concentration. He worked to recall the rhythm of the spell he was to cast.

"Vulnera Sanentur... Vulnera Sanentur... Vulnera Sanentur..."

When Harry looked again, the gash had knitted itself together, a bright pink, angry line joining two others on the same arm. Harry furrowed his brows.