Cicatrices- Marks That Remain

The Bedroom Door

Greetings, Dear Readers!

I am... Severely behind on my writing. I'm not saying it'll happen, but I Might not be on time for our next chapter to come out as per our usual schedule... I am so deeply sorry. It's college's fault. On the bright side, I do have a solid plan (thank you my amazing super fantastic alpha readers), so maybe y'all Will get a chapter on time.

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

Enjoy!

Entering Draco's flat again was like being yanked back into a sad reality, after his evening with Teddy- calm, quiet, joyful...

Draco's flat was grey (though Harry mostly blamed that on the cold, cloudy day, and his white walls) and silent. John was sat at the dining table. Harry zeroed in on the bedroom door, where Draco undoubtedly was hiding. At least the Christmas tree was still up

John gave him a clap on the shoulder. "How's the kid? Bloke and I went out into town after you left. I reckon he did pretty well at the shops. Bought a few presents for the Hols. Barely spoke to me, but what's new. Eh, does he talk to you any, when you're here?"

Harry glanced at Draco's closed bedroom door. "Yeah, sometimes," he responded."I reckon we have some sort of understanding of each other."

"Good luck," John called out, leaving out the front door. Harry sighed.

He stared hard at the bedroom door, as though he could silently will Draco out from his fucking hollow-

Harry took a long, tired breath. He needed to put the kettle on, lest he actually drink all of Draco's rum.

Harry did better back when there wasn't any alcohol in the flat. Helps him ignore the fact that he likes it.

He filled the kettle with the tap, setting it down on the stovetop afterwards, and turning it on.

What was he even thinking, that he could just keep things quiet and pursue Draco, that ethics didn't matter, that nothing was wrong with it all...

Hermione would likely scold him into next year, if she knew.

The tips of Harry's fingers prickled with the sensation of feeling the large scar across Draco's stomach. He wondered how much that scar bothers Draco. He thought back to him pressing down tightly against his stomach on occasion. Was that what it was? Harry should have known.

But it was quite odd, Harry thought. Did Draco's scars really hold sensation for him? Afterall, Harry simply had no sensation around his scars- aside from the occasional memory of burning on his forehead, but...

The kettle whistled, and Harry moved to pour himself a strong brew. As he took the cup in his hands, he turned to face Draco's bedroom door, resting his weight against the stove. Surely Draco won't stay inside his bedroom forever.

Maybe not forever, but Draco was surely in there for a long time. After two cups of tea and an hour of pouring over case notes, Harry wondered if Draco was hungry, and if Draco would even come out of his room to eat. Eating is important. I should at least ask- He took tentative steps towards the bedroom, raising his knuckles to the white wood. With a bated breath, he knocked.

"Draco, would you like to eat something?"

There was rustling coming from the other side of the bedroom door. Harry felt his breath catch at the anticipation of a response.