Happy Sunday, wonderful readers!
This chapter, I would say, is the last normal chapter before we OFFICIALLY start revving up into the climax of the story!!!!!My wonderful alpha-readers and I have been working on chapters 66-72 for a bit more than a month, and I have been practically vibrating with anticipation to post the chapters.
In the words of a certain Potter Puppet pal... What is that mysterious ticking noise?
Please, let me know what y'all think, and, as always...Enjoy!
Harry and Draco spent the rest of their Saturday in a sort of peace that Harry dared not break. Occasionally, they spoke some more about God. Draco described what it felt like for him at church, before the fear- before it had all begun to rot at his sanity and consume him from the inside out. He described something Harry could only vaguely picture- a sort of uplifting, hopeful air that would cocoon him, make him feel whole. Part of Harry wished he knew what it was like to let himself believe in something bigger, but it was simply impossible. When Draco was feeling less raw, Harry reminded him he didn't feel the way Draco did about religion, just because he felt like it needed to be said.
"For me, religion just- it really only makes me think memories of harsh insults- dark cupboards... my stomach gnawing at itself ... the smell of dried piss soaked into wooden floors..." He hadn't entirely meant to say it. It had simply come out.
"That's why I have such a hard time," he explained quietly. "I know it's important to you, though. And I'm trying to sort of- meet you halfway. I won't stop going with you every week, if you want me to." The unsaid truth was that church brought into Harry's life one thing he could no longer live without: Draco. And that required seeing how much Draco cared about church. Harry didn't think he'd be able to tolerate much more if it continued to swallow Draco in fear and self-loathing.
Later, they spoke a bit about OCD and how they were feeling about the book so far. Draco made another attempt to read, sitting beside Harry with the book in his hands. Harry was careful not to startle him, but gladly stayed next to him as he read. Draco learned about the various types of compulsions. It was late in the book. He tentatively admitted to Harry that he didn't feel ready to read chapters two and three about therapy and self-help. And the several chapters after that, he said, either felt too frightening with potential, like the one labelled "Recovery and Acceptance" or 'don't pertain to (him) at all', like the chapter about children. Harry didn't push him. He knew it was difficult enough to read the book at all, and he was not about to tell Draco how to do it.
Draco looked a bit rattled when he read about checking compulsions and saw himself plainly reflected in the words.
Sensing Draco needed a distraction, Harry turned on the wireless. They cranked the volume and hummed along to various Christmas tunes as they heated the leftover soup together and prepared a salad to go with it. It was almost foreign, how easy and warm everything felt. He wasn't used to it, but he very badly wished for it to become their new normal: Harry singing off-key while dancing around the kitchen, using tongs like a microphone, and Draco laughing even as he pretended to be affronted by the awful singing. After dinner, Harry helped Draco bake pasties for Christmas Eve mass the next evening. Harry quietly revelled in their pocket of domesticity, smiling to himself every moment he noticed that anew. Draco seemed rather calm, almost happy. That night, Harry slept on the sofa- once again transfigured into a bed- and wished that he was holding Draco close, pressing gentle kisses to his temple and whispering affections into his ear.
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Cicatrices- Marks That Remain
Fanfiction"Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy." Draco stopped, closing his eyes for the briefest of moments. He thought of the scars on his left arm. He thought of the scars across his torso...
