the boy soldier

02- the dark mark

As morning loomed over the Hogwarts grounds, Harry awoke with a start to the early beginning of an August day. In sweats and shambles, he scrambled out of bed to put his feet on the cold floor of his room. He needed to ground himself. Breathe. It's all okay. It's okay. And the floor seemed to respond to his panicked awakeness by sending little cold sparks into his feet telling him, you're here, you're alive, it's all still here.

Neville seemed to be sleeping soundlessly across the room, with his bed sheets tossed about from the insufferable nighttime heat. So trying not to wake him, Harry grabbed his clothes and crept to the bathroom to change before setting about a few tasks he wanted to get done.

The first was mostly obligatory since he had received two letters by owl the previous morning, and had not written back purely because he could not summon up the energy to be bothered.

Hermione had written a lengthy note to him full of things that didn't need to be put into a letter, really, but that she felt he might want to hear. Like how Molly had made a pie for the first time since they had come home. Or how the garden gnomes were back again and wreaking more havoc than ever. Even how they had had the 'most delightful sunset the other night'. Harry understood how hard she was trying to make sure he was getting along fine, and that this was also her way of coping. But after scouring his brain for anything to tell her about in reply he gave in and wrote a short note saying, It's pretty quiet over here. I'll come by tomorrow to help out with the gnomes. They're nasty bastards. -H

The other letter he received was considerably shorter but had been long awaited. It read: Just arrived in France. Lots of great lil creatures here. I'll be sending a package of things I think you'd like shortly. Hope this letter finds you safely. Owl seems a bit iffy. -Hagrid

Harry had been a little worried at the notion of any sort of package arriving from Hagrid, God knew what it could contain, but he eventually found himself looking forward to it. He missed Hagrid, but knew that Madame Maxime was looking after him well enough. Hagrid would not be here for the most part of the next year of Hogwarts, since he had decided he needed to recuperate outside of the school, outside of the whole of England in fact. Harry had been upset at his leaving at first, but he understood the appeal for Hagrid himself wanting to get away. What Hagrid had seen at the battle, and in the Forbidden Forest was difficult, and if Madame Maxime could provide him with the proper comfort he needed, it was all for the better.

Harry quietly folded the letters and left the Gryffindor dormitory for the owlery, where he would have to borrow one of the school owl's to send off his replies.

The whole school was silent, none of the ghosts were roaming about yet, and no one else seemed to be awake either. So he took his time, relishing the peace he felt at that moment, and eventually started making his way up the stairs of the owlery.

Before he could get one step inside the building however, he knew that he was not alone anymore. That someone else was inside, sending an owl off as well. He rounded the corner and came to find Malfoy, a few feet away tying a letter to a tawny brown owl's outstretched leg.

"Malfoy," He greeted.

The platinum haired boy glanced up, startled from his thoughts. He didn't reply instead, just looked right back at the owl and finished tying his knot before brushing past Harry to exit.

Harry called out to him, before he could think, "Hey, wait, how have you been?"

Malfoy seemed to almost falter for a second, but without looking back just continued down the steps and away from a confused and annoyed Harry.

For the rest of that day all Harry could think about was how sick the Slytherin boy had looked. With red eyes and deep eye bags, he had lost a considerable amount of weight. His hair was longer and shaggier, and looked less groomed than in years previous. Yet he still wore his all black suit like he was still trying to uphold some honor in his image.

What happened to this boy to make him so... broken? To make him so upset that it showed on the outside as well? Perhaps there were things that Harry hadn't known about, things that he couldn't understand. But he found himself, again, trying to shun his feelings of sympathy towards Draco Malfoy. He was struggling enough as it was, he didn't need to help this Death Eater shoulder his burdens too.

-

Malfoy was not at dinner that night, which had become unsurprising. Harry repressed his feelings of worry for the boy's well being, and retired to the Gryffindor common room to read the Daily Prophet. The headline for the issue read, "Malfoy's Face Dishonor: How One of the Top Wizarding Families Fell with the Falling of Voldemort". Harry read on hurriedly. It labeled the family's circumstances as "unfortunate but well warranted" and the Malfoy Manor as "a house of horrors". The very bottom outlined how the Malfoy's trials had concluded. Lucius had been sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban with Narcissa getting five for her "less involved" stance during the war.

So that was on Malfoy's mind, probably heavily. Harry knew that the Malfoy's involvement with the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord had been extensive, but he still found himself feeling awful for Draco himself. He had no one now. With Crabbe dying in the Fiendfyre and Goyle and his family scattering post-war, and now with his parents being put away. He was alone. There was Blaise Zabini, of course but he had left Hogwarts after the first week clean up.

Harry put down the magazine slightly depressed and confused. He shouldn't be feeling so much sympathy for Draco Malfoy. It wasn't right. Their rivalry had always been bad, but again his actions weren't excusable. Were they?

Deciding to bathe in the prefect bathroom to mull over what was happening and what had happened, Harry left the common room for the comfort of the warm water awaiting him. Hopefully with no Moaning Myrtle to bother him this time around.

However as he was about to enter the bathroom, he was met by Nearly Headless Nick who was looking bored, "I wouldn't go in there if I were you. That Malfoy boy has been in there for about an hour. Seems to be having some issues. He was very upset."

"About what? His parents?"

"I don't know, boy. He's always coming here, but he never speaks. To me at least."

"Sorry, I have got to go in there, either way. Nice seeing you." Harry breezed past him, not sure exactly what he was going to do if Malfoy was in there, but being propelled forward by some sort of sick curiosity. He wanted to see if maybe Malfoy would finally talk to him.

Taking slow steps as he passed into the large chamber, his heart started racing. He had been in this situation with Malfoy before. Two years ago. And that instance had not ended well.

Malfoy was sitting fully dressed against the wall with his head between his knees, crying. Was Draco Malfoy crying? Harry suddenly felt like he did not really feel like being there anymore.

As Harry approached him carefully, Malfoy looked up startled. Not startled. Scared, he looked fearful. But seeing it was only Harry, his eyes lost the panic and returned to its natural glowering state. There was pure hatred behind his icy eyes. Anger at Harry himself. But he just stared, saying nothing, unmoving.

"Malfoy? Are you alright?" Harry felt the words spill out of his mouth, unable to control the worry behind them, and unsure of where they had come from.

Instead of keeping his hate-filled eyes on Harry, Malfoy looked away from him and down at his own arm, towards the black ink in his skin that looked less like a tattoo and more of a cattle-brand. The Dark Mark, right there, plastered on pure white skin.

Malfoy made to grab his stuff and hide the mark, but Harry walked over and grabbed his arm, "Can I see it?"

The look the boy gave Harry almost broke him on the spot. Draco's eyes had filled with tears, and they pleaded with Harry to just let him go, not to make him show the hideous permanent thing. But he did not say anything out loud, and did not pull away. Harry lifted Malfoy's arm up into better lighting, and felt his stomach clench at the sight of the mark so close to him. It made everything feel real. That the war had happened, that Voldemort had caused all this pain and ruin. He reached out with his other hand to trace his fingers over the mark itself. Over the skull, over the snake. And then Draco ripped his arm back like Harry's skin had burned him. Harry half thought he was about to get hexed on the spot. But Draco just moved past him clutching his arm to his chest, and ran out the bathroom door, leaving Harry wondering why that had been the one moment in all of the last year that had felt the most real.