Cicatrices- Marks That Remain

Thoughts and Feelings

HELLO READERS!!!! Happy Sunday!

Good news! I have an alpha reader now! Ao3: FireflyIssues. They have been an enormous help over the last week in which we began working together, and I cou;dn't be happier to call them an alpha reader for this story. You'll find that I'll be updating older chapters with minor changes- but you need not worry about having missed anything important. EXCEPT! They discovered that I accidentally introduced Teddy as younger than he canonically is. I will state now and officially for y'all, Teddy was 2 years and 3-4 months at the time of his initial introduction in chapter 16. And, by chapter 36, he is roughly 2 years and 6 months old...

Also, on the topic of Teddy, and Therapy: I would like to point out that not everything done at therapy is good, the same way not everything done at therapy is bad. Especially when talking about the kind of Therapy Teddy goes to, often, the way to go about certain things is up to the parents' wishes, and the story will touch more on that later. Although not all ABA is evil, like some people would like to believe, it is also true that ABA is not perfect. I took very good care to make things as accurate as I believe it could be considering Teddy, the time he's alive in, and the people around him (namely Andromeda, and later Harry). Also know that I will be updating tags and warnings for this story and for chapter 36, and any other chapters that depict not-the-best practices.

After two hours of contemplating whether or not to try and coax Draco from his room, and eventually hazarding a knock at the door to no response, Harry simply sat at the table, nursing a glass of Bacardi rum- it had been bought recently because of Draco's plan for a rum cake. But surely he wouldn't need the whole bottle? And Harry really needed it, anyway. It helped him feel better about the rue that was spreading across his chest and making everything burn... or maybe that was the rum, or a mixture of both. Harry wasn't sure anymore. It was late, and he was tired, and he did not want to finish the night with Draco like this, not when he was leaving again tomorrow afternoon to watch over Teddy.

Harry sighed, taking another sip of the amber liquid. He briefly wondered if a rum cake would burn just like the drink. Then, he thought about Draco baking, and it made his stomach do something funny. He shoved it away.

Harry should have known he was pushing too hard when he said that. He already knows that Draco doesn't know precisely why he does the things he does. Hell, if Harry wants to be content with pushing away his own problems, then why isn't he letting Draco do the same?

Harry knew why. He cared about Draco. But if he thought about that, it brought forth other questions, like why he won't do the right things for himself, either. Even cleaning his flat was done for someone else, Teddy, and it took days, and help. Harry wouldn't have bothered with it otherwise.

The flat lay silent and dark, save for the ticking of a wall clock and the yellow glow of the Christmas tree. The night was clear, recovering from the day's torrent of rain. Hours ticked past with Harry doing nothing to attempt sleep. He stayed awake, fully dressed, alternating between sitting at the dining table and sitting slumped on the floor against Draco's bedroom door. He listened for any indication that Draco could be awake, and the silence only continued to engulf him, becoming a thick, muffled thing that made Harry begin to feel out of sorts, and a bit detached from himself, as time continued on.

It wasn't until the very earliest trickles of light began to show, that Harry was startled from his spot on the floor due to the sound of shuffling in Draco's room. Harry may have fallen asleep, he surmised. His eyes were cracked and dry, and his lips were chapped. He stood, ignoring the protest from his back, which had been slumped over for an indiscernible amount of time.