Cicatrices- Marks That Remain

The Cotton Void

Happy Sunday, dear Readers! Here is another chapter for you today!

Minor content warnings: disussions of PTSD, death, vivid depictions of severe OCD spiral (but like, it's Draco. Nothing too out of the ordinary). There is also time-accurate naming of Autism/ASD, and minor talk of ABA therapy.

At the end of the chapter, you can find the 'Abomination' word count so far.

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

Enjoy!

Draco woke slowly. The first thing he was aware of was the yellow glow of the early-morning sun hitting his face. Then, it was just how comfortable he was. He welcomed the feel of a proper mattress, cocooning him in softness and warmth.

The next thing he became aware of was the feeling like there was something beside him- no, someone...

Then it struck Draco that the bed he slept in was not familiar, nor was there any reason for a person to be beside him. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a ceiling fan. His bedroom did not have a ceiling fan, and Draco was now nearly certain that he knew precisely who was sleeping beside him. Draco tensed. He did not turn his head to confirm his suspicions.

Abomination. God's Wrath is coming for you.

The thought sent a wave of nausea throughout Draco. He had acted against God. He had been bad again. Except, he recognised the voice quite clearly as the voice that read Leviticus, the voice that told him his attraction to Harry was an abomination. Further proof of being unforgivable.

"To love another person is to see the Face of God."

The words echoed around his skull, a direct defiance of the things Draco had been telling himself the entire past weeks. When Draco made the decision to speak with Father Swain yesterday, he had expected Father Swain to declare him too awful to seek penance, or tell him how to prepare for God's Wrath, to accept his punishment with humility and to stop trying to defy God. Part of him had hoped for some sort of path of repentance, but he had expected it to be a feeble hope. And even then, Draco was certainly not expecting Father Swain to offer him such unconditional forgiveness- or even apology.

And, well... love was a rather strong word, wasn't it... but Draco understood the sentiment all the same, and it directly defied what he'd been told regardless.

Part of him was screaming that he would face death for this- laying in Harry Potter's bed, feeling soft about him.

Another part of him said to stay. Just... stay, and feel the warmth, and the comfort.

After dreaming about the war- about blood and death and evil- Draco hadn't wanted to be alone. And then when he heard Harry scream, well... he couldn't very well not check on him. He simply couldn't. And then watching Harry jump out of his sleep like he'd watched people die, like he was experiencing the same things as Draco...

It was only natural to stay with him afterward...

Right?

Draco turned to his left, coming face to face with a sleeping Harry. His hair was a beautiful mess of black curls across his face. His breaths came in tiny puffs, and his expression was soft. Unguarded. His brows, however, were slightly furrowed, even as he slept. Draco felt the urge to wipe the worry away with his thumb, perhaps even with a kiss.