Cicatrices- Marks That Remain

Calming Draughts

Happy Sunday, wonderful amazing fantastic readers!...I want to apologize in advance for this chapter. It's a doozy.

Warnings with spoilers are in the ending notes, if you wish to read them before beginning the chapter. Non-spoilered warnings include depictions of violence, implications of domestic abuse, depictions of blood, and discussions of psychiatric care

Please, let me know what you all think, AND, if I missed anything in terms of accuracy, do not hesitate to let me know!!

And, as awlays...Enjoy!

Draco stared at the stack of potioneer's slips Hermione had just handed to him. They looked (and smelled, frankly) like they had been lining a Manor house elf's nest for years. Which... given the date of the order lying on the very top, they might have been. It was dated the summer Draco had turned five. Maybe not the worst summer of his life, but certainly close to it. Draco shifted on the couch to hide the slight shudder that came faster than he could repress it.

"I got them from the house elves still living at the Manor," Hermione confirmed before he could ask. "Your parents... 'vacated the property'... without freeing them, with orders to wait for a Malfoy heir to return. It seems they were trying to prevent any skeletons from escaping Malfoy Manor closets as they waited."

Hah, that was an unspoken pureblood family tradition if there ever was one! Draco merely snorted in mild derision, but it didn't have any real snark in it. He was too busy being absolutely stupefied by what was shown to him. Beside him, he could feel Harry squirm a little until he got up with a faint mutter about fixing tea. In his periphery, Draco watched Ron get up to join Harry.

"Why were you at the estate? I thought it was put indefinitely into deep magical decontamination after the Ministry took possession of it," Draco asked once Harry had retreated to the kitchen. His tone was deceptively calm as he read another slip from nearer the centre of the stack, though a tremble of dread was slowly worming up Draco's spine. For the life of him, he could not fathom what the potions were for by the coded notations written on them. Always the same order every few weeks. For years. Each one had been signed for with some vague mark, made undeniably in his mother's handwriting. Draco could practically smell her perfume radiating from the whorls of aged ink.

"I... was looking through the records... to write the referral," Hermione replied shyly. "Ron and I ended up speaking with McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey."

"Haven't you two violated my privacy enough?!" Draco knew that this was something he'd signed for Hermione to do, but something in him twitched violently at the date for that original potions slip, and he wanted, no, needed to blame somebody for the unpleasant reminder. He hadn't known about any potion, but he remembered that summer with sickening clarity. He never wanted to think about it again.

"...There's more," Hermione said, looking guilty. Draco's eyes snapped to hers, furious. She continued. "We found school files- and, I won't do anything with it now, but... but I would like to keep it safe, in case you decide to open up that case against the Ministry..." Draco tensed visibly, and Hermione pulled up her defences.

"Please, Draco," Hermione urged gently. "Ron and I went only to look for corroborating evidence. This is for your benefit and no one else's. We would not have even gone to them at all had it not been for what else was retrieved. We had to verify that they were real. That was all."

"...What?!"

She pulled out another stack of parchments.

Draco's eyes locked onto the next stack of papers on her lap in the same condition as the first. In a blink, he snatched them from her and began rifling through them violently.