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It was well past sunset by the time Harry made his way to the Quidditch pitch. He'd intended to get there earlier but he'd gotten caught up studying for a Charms quiz. Flitwick apparently didn't think saving the world constituted a solid education, as he'd been drowning the Eighth Years in work since the 3rd day of the term, when Neville had made the mistake of complaining he didn't remember what they'd learned in Sixth Year. Now they were stuck completing review work on what the professors felt to be "essential foundational material" (i.e. everything), in addition to upper-level work and N.E.W.T. preparation.
Not that Harry was complaining. It was nice getting to focus on his studies for once instead of evil D.A.D.A. teachers or ancient secrets. He opened the door to the locker room, hoping he could at least get in an hour of practice before it got too dark to see the snitch.
There, sitting on a bench by the showers, was Malfoy. He was dabbing a towel gently around a deep cut in his arm, wincing as it came away soaked in blood.
Harry stepped into the dimly lit locker room, at once curious and concerned. "Are you alright?"
Malfoy jumped, startled. "I'm fine."
"No you're not. You're bleeding." Harry walked toward the bench.
"Get out, Potter," Malfoy growled.
"Give me the towel, I can help."
Malfoy dropped the towel and drew his wand, aiming it steadily at Harry's chest. "I said get out."
Harry stopped, crossing his arms. "You're not going to attack me. It would violate your probation."
Malfoy kept his wand steady for a moment, but then he sighed. He dropped his hand, placing his wand on the floor between them.
Harry crouched next to the bench, staring at Malfoy's arm. "Merlin, that looks nasty."
Malfoy looked at him but said nothing, simply pursed his lips. Harry started toward the door. "I'll get Madam Pomphrey. Just stay right there, okay?"
"No!" Malfoy shouted, suddenly alert. "You can't get Pomphrey."
Harry scoffed, incredulous. "You're bleeding all over the place, in case you hadn't noticed. You can't just walk that off."
"It'll be fine, Potter. I'll heal it myself, I just-- just--" Malfoy looked helplessly between Harry and the steadily growing pool of his own blood. "I just need a moment," he finished in a whisper.
"You absolute git. You're bleeding out on the floor of the showers and you want to heal it yourself? Too proud for Healers, are we?" Harry's words were angry, pleading. He had already seen too much of his classmates' blood for one lifetime. He wasn't sure how much more he could take.
Malfoy didn't respond, just pressed the towel into the wound.
Harry stormed toward him and saw, for the first time, that Malfoy's eyes were strangely red and swollen. He stopped, and stared into his once-enemy's face and realized he no longer recognized what he saw there. When had Malfoy started looking so broken? Harry crossed his arms. "Draco," Harry started gently, "Was this an accident?"
Draco looked away, and for a moment Harry thought he wasn't going to get a response. But then, Draco whispered, "I thought I could cut it out."
Harry swallowed the bile rising in his throat. "What do you mean?"
"I thought-- I thought maybe I could get rid of it, if I just went deep enough but it was still there so I just kept going but it was still there and I-- I didn't know what to do." There was a distinct tremor in Draco's voice that Harry hadn't heard before. His good hand was pale and clammy even as he tried futilely to clean the wound.
Harry took Draco's arm in one hand and carefully took the towel from him with the other. He gingerly removed the blood-soaked fabric, revealing a deep cut. Sure enough, beneath the mangled skin was the dark mark, inked into the exposed muscle and bone as if it had been there all along. Draco was looking away, staring blankly at the shower wall. Harry pressed the towel gently back into the wound, and Draco winced but said nothing.
"Draco..." Harry wasn't sure what to say.
"You don't need to stay," Draco mumbled.
"I'm not going anywhere." He couldn't promise much, but at least he could give Draco that.
Draco scoffed, but he didn't move. They sat in silence for long minutes, Harry keeping pressure on the wound all the while. Finally, he removed the cloth. "I think it's stopped bleeding at least."
"Right. Thanks." Draco stood up and turned to leave but grew abruptly pale. He put his good hand on the shower wall to steady himself and closed his eyes. Beads of sweat formed along his brow.
"Sit back down before you pass out, idiot. I'm not done." Harry pushed Draco firmly back onto the bench and took his arm once more. He drew his wand and placed the tip just above the cut. "Percuro."
The cut mended itself together, leaving a thick scar and dull bruising where the injury once was. The dark mark immediately appeared over the newly healed skin, crimson as ever.
"How'd you learn that?" Draco stared at Harry in vague awe.
Harry grimaced. "The muggles I grew up weren't terribly fond of me."
"What do you mean?"
Harry picked at his fingernails. "They didn't like magic. And, y'know, I did unintentional magic sometimes as a kid."
"So they beat you?" Draco was incredulous.
"It's not like I couldn't heal myself."
"They beat you."
"Sometimes, yeah." Harry tried very hard to look anywhere but Draco's face.
"Oh. I'm-- I'm sorry?"
"It was a long time ago, anyway."
"Still. I'm sorry." Draco traced his new scar.
Harry sighed. "Listen. You know I spoke at your trial, right?"
"You don't need to rub it in." Draco scowled at the floor.
"I'm not trying to. Do you know why I gave testimony?" Harry persisted.
"You shouldn't have." Draco couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"Draco, look at me." Harry stared at him steadily until Draco lifted his gaze. "You were, what, seventeen when you got this?" Harry tapped Draco's left arm.
"Sixteen." Draco's voice was barely a whisper.
"You were a child." Harry placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. "You were a scared kid with a Deatheater dad."
Draco stared at the floor. "I knew what I was doing."
"You made a mistake, okay? You're not the same person you used to be. I don't think any of us are."
"I just wanted it out of me." Draco's hands gripped the towel, twisting it. "I still have nightmares where it's burning and he's back and it burns and everyone dies all over again and I don't know how I'm supposed to live when he's still in me."
"Draco." Harry pried the towel from his white knuckles and clasped Draco's freezing hands in his own. "Breathe in." Draco inhaled and Harry nodded. "Breathe out." Draco exhaled. "Better?"
Draco nodded, and then hesitated. His gaze dropped to the blood-stained towel lying on the bench between them. "You really don't need to stay, you know."
Harry's brow furrowed. "Has anything like this happened before?"
"Stop pretending to care."
Harry didn't respond, just took Draco's hands in his own. He ran his thumb over lines of Draco's palms.
"I'm fine."
"Fine people don't try to cut tattoos out of their arms."
Draco opened his mouth as if to argue, then thought better of it. "I don't-- I mean--" he hesitated, then whispered, "He tortured people in my living room. And I don't even know their names. How am I supposed to be fine with that?"
"You can't change what happened, Draco. The war is over."
"Is it? Everything I did is going to be there forever. The mark is going to be there forever. Every day for the rest of my life, I'm never going to be able to forget it." Draco's eyes filled with tears, and he wiped them away furiously with his shoulders.
"The mark is going to be there forever," Harry nodded, "But that doesn't mean you're a Deatheater forever."
Draco looked as if he'd been struck. He crumpled in on himself, shaking as he cried. Harry wrapped his arms around the other boy. Draco stiffened at first, but then he relaxed into the embrace, sobbing softly. Harry rubbed his back gently and let him cry. Draco buried his face in his robes and shuddered slightly as he wept. Harry simply held him, letting the safety and stillness of the empty locker room wrap around them with its promised privacy. No one else would be along at this hour.
Nearly an hour later, Draco finally cried himself to exhaustion. His breathing evened out even as he stayed in the hug. "Sorry," he mumbled into Harry's shirt. He drew himself away carefully, rubbing at his flushed cheeks.
"Don't apologize." Harry's voice was level and calm.
"Thank you, then." Draco wrapped his arms protectively around himself.
"You're welcome. Please don't ever do that again."
Draco stared at the mark. "No promises," he mumbled.
Harry exhaled sharply through his teeth. "Okay. Promise me you'll talk to someone, then? A friend, or a Healer or something."
Draco wiped his eyes again, and then nodded slightly.
Harry smiled, and Draco found himself smiling back in spite of himself. "Thank you. Do you feel like you could walk back to the dorms now?"
"I think so."
"C'mon then. You should probably get some rest."
Draco nodded, and followed Harry out of the locker rooms.