Cicatrices- Marks That Remain

New Year

Happy Sunday, Spectacular readers!!! And Happy near-Halloween for those who celebrate!This will be your last chapter for three weeks, BUT! I am making up for it by posting two chapters when I come back!

For this chapter, minor warnings for mental health spiraling and some inaccurate mindsets about OCD. Nothing too crazy though.

I have been reading all of your comments, and I want to give a massive thank you to all of you for your continued reading and support!

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

Enjoy!

Draco Malfoy hates hospitals.

Technically, he had already learned that, but his current stay in Saint Mungo's did nothing to dissuade him of that notion.

He did not remember arriving in the hospital; only waking up some undetermined amount of time later with an aching thigh, a steadily pounding headache, and Hermione and Ginny hovering over him.

Mediwitches hurried in soon after that, asking him this and that, placing a hand at the bottom of his foot and asking him to push against it...

"Do you know where you are?"

"St. Mungo's."

"Do you know what year it is?"

"2000."

They also asked him if he was in any pain before administering potions to minimise it.

According to Ginny and Hermione, Harry was in his own hospital room with Ron accompanying him, but was about to be released at any moment. The unexpected visitors reminded Draco that Ron and Ginny had both shown up at the scene of the battle. He wanted to ask how they knew he and Harry had been in danger there, but instead, he found himself promptly falling back to sleep.

When he woke up again, Harry was beside him and holding his hand, rubbing his thumb soothingly over the back of Draco's hand. Draco returned the sentiment.

"Hullo," Harry greeted with a tentative smile. "How're you feeling? How's your leg?"

Draco furrowed his brows with a groan.

"Hurts."

"They fixed you up pretty well," he replied. "They said your leg might go bum now and then, only because it took so long for us to get here, but that you should be mostly fine... I'm glad that Ron and Ginny showed up when they did..."

Draco wasn't sure what to do with that information. He was so incredibly fatigued- a feeling he'd grown to expect with his hospital stays- that every thought passing through his brain did so in a slow, floating manner, like a jellyfish drifting across the wide expanse of ocean, not caring where it goes.

Absently, he wondered if the door to the hospital room was locked for his safety. Probably not, he told himself.

And yet, his weariness was so great that he would only bother to glance at the unassuming door, and nothing else. The absence of ritual was strange, but somehow tolerable if only because Draco still felt like half of his brain was unconscious. He looked over at Harry, still holding his hand, and the tight, gnawing anxiety that usually sparked his compulsions was... dull. Not gone, just... muffled. Draco closed his eyes and let himself sink into his cot, not in the mood for using his brain anymore.

"By the way," he asked."How did they know?"

"Hm?" Harry blinked up at him. Then, "Oh! The, uh, clock," he said by way of explanation. Draco furrowed his brows.