First HP fic; Classic Stigma
Right. I really don't want to wait anymore.
Thank you unsubtle and freaky_zero for beta'ing.
Title: Classic Stigma
Author: Nepenthe
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Genre: Drama
Format: Finished multipart
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some swearing.
Disclaimer: I own Harry’s new scars and Luna’s advice. Nothing more.
Summary: One has to grow up in order to understand what love is all about. Harry is struggling with the maturity of his and Draco’s relationship, along with dealing old haunts and fears, with only Hermione and Luna’s advice to guide him.
"The first person you have to accept is yourself." - Luna Lovegood
Harry sat on his dorm bed, distractedly tying up his shoes as he looked at himself in the mirror in front of him. His shirt laid waiting behind him, his reflection's bare chest drinking in the morning light coming through the window. Unfortunately, especially in Harry's disgusted eyes, the sun captured all the old scars that dotted along his back, chest, and stomach and enhanced them, making them see more distorted and ghastly. Harry bit his lip as he dropped his tied foot back to the floor, eyes wandering over his skin with an expression of hopelessness and grim acceptance. Harry never thought himself very cute or very bright. All Harry saw when he looked in the mirror was dry, messy hair, big, ugly glasses, pale skin, and his body littered with scars. While some were mere dents on the surface, others had lifted and collected like dead skin. Harry traced one now, the one along his stomach that led the way from his hip to his naval. He had received that not from a spell, but from a Deatheater's hooked hand. The pain was a distant memory, but Harry recalled himself collapsing to the ground and screaming, because he was sure his stomach was going to fall right out of the deep cut. Blood had poured out of the wound, like a waterfall of red and Harry had clutched at it, hoping that if he cupped his hands into a big enough bowl, he could probably lay back and pour all his contents back in.
Now it was just an ugly scar.
Another one was not an ordinary scar and it about covered the majority of Harry's upper back. Thankfully, a high enough shirt just barely covered the beginning of the markings. He had received that plane of distorted flesh on Voldemort's last reign, when he was captured and tortured. He remembered being strapped facedown on some sort of table, his Weasley sweater clinging to him in hot sweat. They didn't bother to remove it when they cast the Burning curse on him. At first Harry felt only hot. But then, he began to burn, and it burned from the inside. They told him between breaks (to keep him conscious, he supposed) that it would eventually surface on some part of his body. It had surfaced on his back and like fire, it had sizzled the flesh away and melted the sweater right into Harry's flesh. It had begun to surface on a small part of his thigh, greedily sucking in the pattern of his jeans, before Luna broke free and rescued him. They half stumbled (but mostly crawled) their asses out of the castle to only make it to the courtyard. That was when Voldemort decided to appear.
Harry shook his head, twisting his shoulder slightly to look at that particular flesh on his back. It had burned and healed in the pattern of the sweater he was wearing that day, like a constant reminder etched in blood and pink flesh. The last scar Voldemort left him. It looked like something you wake up with, the after effects of sleeping in your clothes, and it would eventually fade away into smooth skin; Harry's never did though, and no cure was available to make it go away.
Sighing against the ugly sight, Harry turned away quickly and snatched his shirt, pulling it on just in time for Hermione to knock and peek her head through the door.
"Hey Harry," she said, offering a wavering smile. "The carriage is here and waiting. You about ready?"
"I'm ready," he replied, grabbing his wand from the nightstand. She frowned slightly, but said nothing, and left the doorway with her footsteps skipping down the winding stairs. Harry took one more glance in the mirror as he put on his watch before, with a cluck of disgust, he threw a blanket over it.
Harry probably wouldn't have cared too much about his appearance - it was an inevitable fact he accepted a long time ago that he was just another ugly kid. The only problem with this reality was that - and Harry had a very hard time believing this - he actually had someone in his life that found him appealing. Or maybe he just liked having him around or something. Harry frowned as he walked down the stairs. Nonetheless, they liked him and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. Not that he was complaining, of course. He just found it very...weird. In a happy gooey way.
"About bloody time," the said person snapped as Harry appeared, but it lacked its usual malice.
Harry smiled shyly at Draco Malfoy, before shaking his head at the large and expensive get-up he was dressed in. He wore a long, shimmering black cloak (the obvious effects of many different spells) with a formal black tie, dark green shirt, and slacked pants. It made the rest of them look completely shabby in their jeans, T-shirts, and school cloaks. Hermione had tried to make her hair a bit presentable, which worked, but it looked like it would be a useless effort since it was about to rain. Ron was dressed in one of his mother's homemade sweaters that Harry had a hard time not flinching at. The bright red color of it was a strong reminder and Harry briefly smelled burnt flesh, his scars hissing for a moment, before the memory was gone. Ron had suddenly gone white.
"Oh, shit," he whispered, looking down at his shirt before at Harry. The Boy Who Lived smiled weakly. "Let me...Let me just change..." And he ran upstairs quickly before Harry could protest, keeping his eyes ducked with shame as he passed him. Draco snorted and if he found anything odd about the moment, he didn't show it. Harry didn't have the spirit to tell everyone about his back, but he definitely didn't have the heart to tell two other people in his life. One being Mrs. Weasley, who would surely feel it all her fault if she knew it was the sweater she made him that caused all those markings on his skin. The second was Draco. In fact, Draco didn't know anything about the scars on Harry's body. Because, for one, Harry didn't tell him about it (and only few knew) and second, Harry refused to let Draco touch him and find out. Somehow, Harry had been able to keep their relationship very...innocent.
"She wouldn't want you to be so dressed up like that," Harry told Draco, coming down the stairs the rest of the way with a soft smirk on his lips.
"Well, I guess I could always borrow Weasley's jumper," Draco drawled with his eyes rolling. "Red is very appealing on me and I've always had a soft spot for the letter 'R'."
"Red would look horrible on you."
"I look great in anything, Potter, so please restrain your jealousy."
It was Harry's turn to snort, so he was caught off guard when Draco leaned forward and kissed him soundly on the lips. Blinking with surprise behind his glasses, Harry was sure his cheeks were becoming like the red glow of Ron's shirt. Hermione's little 'yes!' was dampened by Ron's trampling feet as he came down the stairs, and his voice screaming, "I'm ready!"
That was Harry and Draco's first kiss.
+
"Well, funerals are silly. Everyone stands around a lost loved one and talks about how great he or she is, but they can't hear how much they will be missed. Shouldn't you tell this person how great they are before it's too late?" - Luna Lovegood
It rained while they were in the carriage but by the time they got to the graveyard it had stopped, much to Hermione's pleasure. It died quickly though as they joined the few members at the site. They moved in a collected mass of black robes - Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Ginny. They were silent as they climbed the hill, as if paying their respects, but Harry’s mind was whirling with her voice and her words - all the last things she said to him while they waited to die in the dungeons. But mostly, he remembered the promise he gave her that day. He knew he had to honor it. But for some reason, he found his insides quivering with a nervous ache; he didn’t know if he could find the strength to do her last wish.
//"I'll make you a promise then," Harry said as he looked back at her. "I won't let anyone do that to you and you won't let anyone do that to me."//
Because, in reality, they both thought they wouldn’t survive to honor those wishes in the end.
Harry was once again grateful for Draco's presence - well, mostly his hand. He squeezed it as he moved to the coffin, breaking through the throng of people already there. The coffin she was in was charmed invisible so that they could still see the body inside. Harry had attended very few funerals in his life, but for the ones he had seen, the bodies had always been pasty white and very stiff. But Harry was surprised to see that there was still color in her cheeks and that her head was tilted to the side, resting against the pillows like she was asleep. One arm was crossed up her stomach with her hand resting on her chest, fingers clutching her restored wand. Her other arm was by her side, her fingers just barely touching the phoenix feather lying by her...Fawkes had donated that.
Harry smiled sadly at the image. Harry heard from many people that when they saw a loved one during a funeral, it looked like they were just sleeping. She was the perfect picture of that. With her head tilted, her hair lying lazily around her in a curtain of blonde-white curls, and resting in her favorite yellow dress, Harry could almost fool himself into squinting and watching her chest rise and fall. A soft ache began in Harry's chest and tickled the back of his throat.
He sniffed and Draco squeezed his hand.
"Would anyone like to say a few words?"
No one spoke at first and a wind passed by, swiping the clouds away from the sky so that sun peeked out and bore down hotly on the backs of their collected necks. Draco stirred uncomfortably next to Harry, drawing himself a bit closer, and Harry felt his throat close up just as he was about to say something. Hermione finally spoke, though, and Harry felt guilty relief.
"Luna was unique," Hermione started strong, her voice trying for fond mirth, but it broke in the end. Tears immediately filled her eyes. She tried blinking them away, sniffling, and in a rare moment of compassion, Ron put a hand under her elbow, as if to guide her.
"Luna was unique," Hermione tried again. "And no matter what you told her, she stood by what she believed in. Let they be things that don't exist-," she gave a tearful laugh at that one, wiping away tears from her cheeks, "-or people against her friends."
Harry felt a knife twist in his stomach. He didn't know if it was from Hermione's words or Luna's echoing last wishes.
Hermione tried to go on, but her voice died in her throat. Ron offered her his cloak and she laughed softly, using it to wipe away her tear-streaked face.
"She was always nice," Neville said softly. "Even when people weren't the same to her."
Harry put a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming and he felt Draco's eyes on him. An unexplainable rage was building in Harry's chest, washing up to his throat to release itself on everyone, and his hand shook in Draco's grasp as he tried to keep it in.
//"So, this is it."
"I'm sorry, Luna..."
"I'm not."//
You promised, Harry thought to himself. You promised her that you wouldn’t let them do this to her.
"She always used to say," Luna's father began and everyone's eyes trained on him, including Harry’s, "that she was going to do something worthwhile, something that would help change or shape the world. I didn't think that it was going to be like-," he stopped, and shook his head, not bothering to wipe the few tears hanging off his cheekbones. "When she said that, I thought she was going to do it...do it some other way."
Harry felt like the breath was knocked out of him and Hermione made a little noise from the back of her throat.
"But now..." her father continued and he looked at Harry. "Now I'm glad she didn't."
Harry was sure that he was never going to be able to breathe again, his lungs emptying out their last breath in a whoosh.
"No matter how much I will miss her," he said with strength. "I know that it was all for the best in the end."
Harry thought he saw Hermione's knees give out but when he glanced over all he saw was Ron holding her against his chest, her face pressed against his cloaked shoulder. She was very still; her shoulders ceased shaking, and seemed to Harry even deader than Luna's corpse in the coffin. After a moment though, she straightened and Ron let her go quickly.
//"It made me really angry."//
There was a moment's silence, people trying to recollect themselves, and Harry ducked his eyes from Mr. Lovegood's piercing gaze and Draco's questioning eyes. Harry was angry too but not like everyone else. Not like Mr. Lovegood, who was angry that his only daughter was gone. Not like Ron and Hermione, who thought it was unjust for her to die. Not like Draco, who burned with an anger Harry couldn’t describe. He was angry at himself for not stopping this from happening. And he was angry that no one else knew Luna’s one true fear. If they cared for her so much, how was it that he was the only one that knew her last wish? Everybody was waiting for the next person to speak, looking around each other with guilty expressions as they scrambled for the next thing to say against Mr. Lovegood's confession. Harry wanted to sneer at them, because he knew that none of them really knew Luna whatsoever. He hated them. It was this anger, this loathing for himself and the disgust for everyone around him that made Harry step forward. He shook his hand free from Draco’s clasp.
"Luna," he started and heads whirled around to look at him with surprise. "Luna was all of those things. And more. She also wasn't a fake. She told the truth, the way she saw it, and went against the mainstream to achieve something different from everyone else." Anger. Anger, it was eating him up and spitting him out in front of all these people. "Yes, she was nice, but she wouldn't soften the words of her opinion to make you feel better." He glanced at Neville, whose eyes ducked when Harry looked at him. He didn’t realize his eyes were hard and cold. "And yes, she followed her beliefs." He looked at Hermione who stared right back at him between her red-rimmed eyes. "But more importantly, she gave her belief in herself to others. On the night she died..." Everyone seemed to take a sharp breath. Harry had never talked about it. "On the night that she died, she gave me her beliefs and I'm going to honor them."
He looked around at all of them before flickering his gaze back down at her sleeping face.
"She would hate this," he spat in a whisper and everyone stirred around him. He continued regardless and smiled tightly at her coffin, raising his voice. "On the night that she died, she told me that she didn't understand funerals." His voice had turned accusatory, against his will. Why didn’t people know this about Luna? This was probably her most important feature and no one seemed to know about it. It made Harry ache with sadness and loss. But it was burned him with fury. "She said she couldn't understand why people would share their feelings and thoughts over a loved one once they're dead, when they had years to say something to their face. When they could hear it."
Harry looked up again at the people around him, daring them to lower their eyes when he stared at them. "I only knew Luna for about three years. And I told her how great I thought she was." Did you ever? "I told her all about the great deeds she had done and what a wonderful person she was going to grow up to be." He paused, his heart aching and his eyes beginning to sting; whether they were tears or wretched fury, he couldn’t tell. "But the one thing I never got to tell her was how grateful I was for her friendship." Harry had to pause. He didn’t mean to confess that. It just slipped out of his mouth. But now everyone was staring at him, urging him to continue in their sadistic ways. His anger began to deflate as he opened his mouth. "Because...by the time I knew how much I valued it, she had already given her life to save me."
He heard something crumble to the ground behind him and he knew it was Hermione. Other than that, everything was completely silent. Not even the wind dared to move and everyone's eyes were still boring into him, seeming to search him. But he knew now that they were searching themselves, recollecting any memories of Luna, trying to find out if they ever told her what they thought of her. Neville was biting his nails. Ron was staring at Hermione who had her face in her hands. Harry knew few would find anything.
"It was her gift," he said softly. "She told me that it was her gift to me. And I never got to thank her for it."
People began sobbing quietly, including Luna's father who finally was trying to wipe away the tears falling from his eyes.
"That's all I need to say to her," Harry continued and was surprised to find that he was the only person not crying. "Even though she can't hear it. I hope that all of you...at some point or another...were able to tell her how much you cared for her. Because that's all she ever wanted." He thought about saying more, but his anger had died a long time ago and so his voice followed it. He found himself deflating, suddenly tired and drained. People continued to cry around them and Harry found himself despising it because he couldn't understand what they were crying for. He could only think that they were crying over themselves, over their lost chance to tell Luna what kind of person she was. And Harry, having told her everything he liked about her, found himself unable to shed a tear for her. He looked around at everyone one more time, took a single, long glance at Luna's peaceful corpse, before turning around and walking away.
When he stormed away, he didn’t take notice of the shadow following shortly behind him until it took his hand. Surprised, Harry looked down at their clasped hands and recognized the pale, flawless skin instantly, but he still looked up. He was startled again into a stop when he looked into Draco’s face. For when he had looked around at everyone’s teary figure, he had missed Draco standing behind. He had missed and been distracted by the disgust and knowledge that they had never told Luna anything. He walked away and never took notice of Draco...until now.
Draco gave him a soft smile. His eyes were dry and red free.
Inside, Harry felt himself shatter into a million pieces and it was the greatest feeling in the world. In that breaking moment, Harry leaned forward as they walked away and returned the kiss Draco had given him that morning.
Draco just smiled.
+
"I don't need to hide anything." - Luna Lovegood
Another month had passed in Harry's last year at Hogwarts and things were beginning to go back to normal. As normal as they could manage anyway. Harry and Ron still neglected their homework to the last moment. Hermione continued to be the smartest girl in class. Draco made sure he could use his witty tongue for every possible moment. With Voldemort gone and the Deatheaters arrested, the school gave a collected sigh of relief and continued on with lighter steps.
Harry seemed to drag behind.
With N.E.W.T.S. just around the corner, Harry had to find time for studying, being with his friends, Quidditch, and now, Draco Malfoy. Sometimes, it was a little stressful, but it failed to compete with Harry's sixth year when Voldemort had gained control in the Ministry, and had sent thousands to kill the legendary Harry Potter. That was stressful. Schoolwork, friends, and boyfriends were a shudder on a tiny pond.
Harry stared at the fire in the Gryffindor common room, sleepy eyes half-closed as Hermione sat nearby, engrossed in a book. Ron had given up with a few other sixth years and had trampled upstairs for bed, but Harry stayed, waiting for the common room to finally be empty.
Harry cast his green gaze at Hermione's bent head as she flipped another page, looking over her figure with glazed eyes. Feeling him staring at her, she lifted her head slightly.
"What is it, Harry?"
When he didn't say anything immediately, she closed the book with a well-earned creak and drew the binds to her chest, staring back at him with wide, open eyes.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied. "Are you?"
She blinked, offering a small laugh. "Of course." She made a move to stand but Harry leaned forward from the confines of his chair, and put restraining fingertips on her wrist. She stilled.
"There's nothing you can do now, you know," he told her, and he couldn't believe that he was giving Hermione advice. "It's over. The war is over."
She didn't reply and Harry took back his hand, studying her profile when she turned her face away from him. The lights of the fire had darkened the bags underneath her eyes, and the warm touch of the fire seemed to suck away the life from her skin, making her look paler. Her hair was one big tangle, a big puff around her face, and needed a desperate cutting. In the last month, Harry had watched Hermione take to her studies like a man trying to drown. Only she was smart enough to keep kicking and knew how to stay afloat. She'd surface from one book and then dive into the next. Harry was waiting for the day when she would no longer have the strength to raise her angled neck from the crusty pages.
"I'm responsible," she said softly, playing with the ends of the book and looking down at the ground. "I shouldn't have let her go with you."
"Hermione -"
"NO!" She shouted and both of them were startled by the volume of her voice. She looked sheepish, a hand covering her mouth, and Harry had moved back into his seat.
"No," she said softer. "I should have been the one to go with you."
Harry's voice gave out on him and he tried to find the right words to say, but nothing seemed to come forth.
"I knew something was wrong," she continued. "I knew that something was going to happen, but like a coward, I stayed behind. I should have told her to stay."
"Why?" Harry asked. "I don't...understand..."
"I'm your friend! I should have stayed with you!"
"Luna was my friend too," he pointed out, slightly angry.
"No!" She said, frustrated. Harry's eyes narrowed and started to stand up.
"I don't have to listen to this-" he snarled angrily, disgusted that Hermione refused to accept Luna after all they had gone through.
"No, Harry!" She grabbed his sleeve in desperation and clung on, looking up at him. "That's not what I meant!"
"Then what did you mean?" Harry barked, starting to shake his wrist to be free of her.
"I meant-" and she started to cry brokenly, causing Harry to stop trying to shove her away. "I meant that I sent both of my friends out there and-" She covered her mouth, releasing Harry and turned away from him. Harry blinked down at her. Both?
"I knew better..." she whispered between her shaking hands. Harry moved slowly to his knees and put his hands on Hermione's shaking shoulders, turning her around and drawing her to his chest. She came willingly, her wet fingers clinging to her best friend's shirt.
"You're so strong, Harry," she rambled, shaking her head and sobbing loudly. Harry put a hand in her hair, stroking the puffy hair awkwardly. "You can always take care of yourself, but Luna..."
Harry didn't understand what Hermione was trying to say. He wasn't strong either.
"I sacrificed her..." she confessed within the fabric of his shirt. Harry looked down at Hermione. "I pointed at the door and told her to go die, when it should have been me."
"Hermione..." Harry's breath came out in another whoosh, shaking his head against the remarkable conclusion Hermione had drawn up herself. He hugged her to him, laying his cheek on the top of her head in comfort, gazing into the fire and listening to her sobs.
"Forgive me, Harry..." Hermione begged, her body trembling within his hands. "Please, Harry, forgive me. I will never be a coward again...I will stand by you always, just please, forgive me..."
Harry's arms tightened around her, closing his eyes, and burying his face into her brown hair. "I forgive you, Hermione."
+
"Anything plain can be lovely." - Luna Lovegood
Me? Strong? Harry thought later that night, lying awake in his bed and listening to his schoolmates' snores. He swallowed thickly on the thought, rolling over onto his side. He wasn't strong...he was just incredibly lucky. Lucky to be alive, lucky to have Hermione, Ron...and Draco. He couldn't believe Hermione was blaming herself for Luna's death. He didn't understand how she had come to such a ridiculous conclusion. It was mind-boggling and he knew that it wasn't anybody's fault but his. He was, of course, the reason for all the deaths, for all the heartache and pain. He was also the end of it. He ended Voldemort's tyranny when he was just a baby, but he was also the reason for his return. He was responsible for the many deaths and many sacrifices they gave when they fought for him and protected him. It was because of him that another war started. But it was because of him that it had ended. Harry was sure that none of this ever would have happened if he had died with Voldemort, died with his parents, sixteen years ago.
But then...he wouldn't have Ron, Hermione...Draco.
He was thankful for his two friends, thankful in a guilty way that it was Luna who had died, and not Hermione. He wasn't sure he would have been able to cope with Hermione's death and secretly, Harry thought Luna knew that. If he had a chance to save one for the other, it would have been Hermione. It didn't mean, though, that Harry didn't cherish Luna - because he did. Cherished her in a completely different way then Hermione. Luna had filled a small hole in Harry that he didn't realize he had until she was there. It was a microscopic hole, like a dent, on his conscious, control, and childhood morals. Luna had taken pieces of her soul and filled it up with determination; a determination that Harry knew she would have used to make sure Harry sacrificed her instead of Hermione.
And Harry was grateful for his friend's loyalty to him. Surely, after first year, they should have dumped him and gave up all the trouble of being his friend. They would have saved themselves a lot - he knew his friendship wasn't worth it. But they hadn't. For some crazy reason, they stayed by him and fought with him. And Harry was sure now that without them, he would have died a long time ago...
But Draco. Now, Draco confused Harry to impossible ends. It wasn't until the end of sixth year that Harry found out about Draco's switched loyalties. It was an unnerving matter, especially considering when he woke up at the Order and went downstairs for breakfast to find Draco sitting there enjoying Mrs. Weasley's homemade orange juice. Old insults were exchanged, followed quickly by a fistfight that Lupin had the honor to end. Harry was sure that Draco was just a spy, his suspicion furthering when special information of the Order's plans had leaked to Voldemort. He had accused Draco outright at dinner sometime during the summer and Draco had only smirked in response. But Harry remembered that after that day those eyes became very cold when they rested on him, a frozen disgust that seemed to wound Harry more then Draco's words ever could.
The only person who was nice to Draco for the majority of that summer had been Luna Lovegood. She and her father had joined the Order after 5th year's events and had become a very close friend to the trio. Ron, for a long time, had a very hard crush on her, but never acted upon it. Hermione said that Luna had returned the feelings at one point in time, but when Ron refused to act on it, she had moved on easily. That was how Luna was, Harry thought fondly. Although she felt very strongly in a burst of emotion, she was the only person in the group who could easily move on when needed to. Harry respected her for that. That respect did go down a couple of points though when Luna seemed to be very keen on Draco. He hated it when she would defend him in a cold, ruthless way, because not only was her tongue incredibly sharp when she wanted it to be, but because when she berated them, she did it in such a way that it made Harry feel like he was two years old. She made them all feel childish and selfish, before sweeping out of the room in a graceful wave that not even Draco could imitate.
Turned out, she was right.
It came to a painful price for Draco - for everyone to believe his loyalty. As they had lain crumbled on the ground after Lucius’s well cast Crucio curse, withering and gasping, Hermione had made a final effort to protect Harry from Avada Kadava by laying herself over his body. In that split second of hesitation on Lucius’s part, Draco had slipped into the room and without a thought had cast the deadly curse to his father's turned back. As the Deatheater fell to the ground in a lifeless heap, Luna began to cry. It was the only time Harry would see her shed tears.
To get where Harry was today had not been an easy task for him or Draco. When Harry came to Draco in guilt, Draco had refused him. When he tried again in anger, Draco snapped back. When Harry came the last time with pity, Draco had punched him. It was only when Draco came to Harry that their tentative friendship began under a cold sky with the heavens painted in residue magic. Their relationship deepened after shared battles, and they only confessed each other's feelings for one another by...not saying anything at all. Instead, one day, Draco had taken Harry's hand in the hallway. Harry let him keep it, and again the next day, and again the next day...
Harry's stomach twisted, feeling a little panicky, and he rolled over onto his back again to see if he could breathe better that way. He liked Draco, he was pretty sure of that. But every time he thought about them going further in their relationship, Harry would get so nervous, he'd make himself sick. He knew that it was what they were supposed to do, if they wanted a relationship to last. To hug, kiss, and eventually have sex. But Harry felt that he could never be ready for that. Never go any further then holding hands and maybe sharing an innocent kiss or two. He feared he lacked the skills to perform any intimate act, and he feared his body most of all. Because it was ugly. There was no possible way for Draco to even want to touch it if he knew what was underneath all the clothes.
Harry began to feel sick again.
He wanted Draco to like his body, wanted Draco to accept all the ugly scars like they weren't even there, but Harry knew it was impossible to ignore them. He could just imagine Draco running his hands over his bare back and the look of disgust that he would try to mask. Harry couldn't do that. Couldn't deal with his disgusting body lying next to Draco's surely flawless finish. He knew Draco loved beautiful things, cherished them in a possessive way. Sometimes it made Harry wonder what the fuck Draco was thinking, dating him. If Draco only knew, he knew he wouldn't want him anymore.
Harry just wasn't sure how long he could keep those fondlings at bay before it all fell apart and Draco left him.
I hope you guys enjoy it so far. I'll post the next part soon. ^_^
Thank you unsubtle and freaky_zero for beta'ing.
Title: Classic Stigma
Author: Nepenthe
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Genre: Drama
Format: Finished multipart
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some swearing.
Disclaimer: I own Harry’s new scars and Luna’s advice. Nothing more.
Summary: One has to grow up in order to understand what love is all about. Harry is struggling with the maturity of his and Draco’s relationship, along with dealing old haunts and fears, with only Hermione and Luna’s advice to guide him.
"The first person you have to accept is yourself." - Luna Lovegood
Harry sat on his dorm bed, distractedly tying up his shoes as he looked at himself in the mirror in front of him. His shirt laid waiting behind him, his reflection's bare chest drinking in the morning light coming through the window. Unfortunately, especially in Harry's disgusted eyes, the sun captured all the old scars that dotted along his back, chest, and stomach and enhanced them, making them see more distorted and ghastly. Harry bit his lip as he dropped his tied foot back to the floor, eyes wandering over his skin with an expression of hopelessness and grim acceptance. Harry never thought himself very cute or very bright. All Harry saw when he looked in the mirror was dry, messy hair, big, ugly glasses, pale skin, and his body littered with scars. While some were mere dents on the surface, others had lifted and collected like dead skin. Harry traced one now, the one along his stomach that led the way from his hip to his naval. He had received that not from a spell, but from a Deatheater's hooked hand. The pain was a distant memory, but Harry recalled himself collapsing to the ground and screaming, because he was sure his stomach was going to fall right out of the deep cut. Blood had poured out of the wound, like a waterfall of red and Harry had clutched at it, hoping that if he cupped his hands into a big enough bowl, he could probably lay back and pour all his contents back in.
Now it was just an ugly scar.
Another one was not an ordinary scar and it about covered the majority of Harry's upper back. Thankfully, a high enough shirt just barely covered the beginning of the markings. He had received that plane of distorted flesh on Voldemort's last reign, when he was captured and tortured. He remembered being strapped facedown on some sort of table, his Weasley sweater clinging to him in hot sweat. They didn't bother to remove it when they cast the Burning curse on him. At first Harry felt only hot. But then, he began to burn, and it burned from the inside. They told him between breaks (to keep him conscious, he supposed) that it would eventually surface on some part of his body. It had surfaced on his back and like fire, it had sizzled the flesh away and melted the sweater right into Harry's flesh. It had begun to surface on a small part of his thigh, greedily sucking in the pattern of his jeans, before Luna broke free and rescued him. They half stumbled (but mostly crawled) their asses out of the castle to only make it to the courtyard. That was when Voldemort decided to appear.
Harry shook his head, twisting his shoulder slightly to look at that particular flesh on his back. It had burned and healed in the pattern of the sweater he was wearing that day, like a constant reminder etched in blood and pink flesh. The last scar Voldemort left him. It looked like something you wake up with, the after effects of sleeping in your clothes, and it would eventually fade away into smooth skin; Harry's never did though, and no cure was available to make it go away.
Sighing against the ugly sight, Harry turned away quickly and snatched his shirt, pulling it on just in time for Hermione to knock and peek her head through the door.
"Hey Harry," she said, offering a wavering smile. "The carriage is here and waiting. You about ready?"
"I'm ready," he replied, grabbing his wand from the nightstand. She frowned slightly, but said nothing, and left the doorway with her footsteps skipping down the winding stairs. Harry took one more glance in the mirror as he put on his watch before, with a cluck of disgust, he threw a blanket over it.
Harry probably wouldn't have cared too much about his appearance - it was an inevitable fact he accepted a long time ago that he was just another ugly kid. The only problem with this reality was that - and Harry had a very hard time believing this - he actually had someone in his life that found him appealing. Or maybe he just liked having him around or something. Harry frowned as he walked down the stairs. Nonetheless, they liked him and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. Not that he was complaining, of course. He just found it very...weird. In a happy gooey way.
"About bloody time," the said person snapped as Harry appeared, but it lacked its usual malice.
Harry smiled shyly at Draco Malfoy, before shaking his head at the large and expensive get-up he was dressed in. He wore a long, shimmering black cloak (the obvious effects of many different spells) with a formal black tie, dark green shirt, and slacked pants. It made the rest of them look completely shabby in their jeans, T-shirts, and school cloaks. Hermione had tried to make her hair a bit presentable, which worked, but it looked like it would be a useless effort since it was about to rain. Ron was dressed in one of his mother's homemade sweaters that Harry had a hard time not flinching at. The bright red color of it was a strong reminder and Harry briefly smelled burnt flesh, his scars hissing for a moment, before the memory was gone. Ron had suddenly gone white.
"Oh, shit," he whispered, looking down at his shirt before at Harry. The Boy Who Lived smiled weakly. "Let me...Let me just change..." And he ran upstairs quickly before Harry could protest, keeping his eyes ducked with shame as he passed him. Draco snorted and if he found anything odd about the moment, he didn't show it. Harry didn't have the spirit to tell everyone about his back, but he definitely didn't have the heart to tell two other people in his life. One being Mrs. Weasley, who would surely feel it all her fault if she knew it was the sweater she made him that caused all those markings on his skin. The second was Draco. In fact, Draco didn't know anything about the scars on Harry's body. Because, for one, Harry didn't tell him about it (and only few knew) and second, Harry refused to let Draco touch him and find out. Somehow, Harry had been able to keep their relationship very...innocent.
"She wouldn't want you to be so dressed up like that," Harry told Draco, coming down the stairs the rest of the way with a soft smirk on his lips.
"Well, I guess I could always borrow Weasley's jumper," Draco drawled with his eyes rolling. "Red is very appealing on me and I've always had a soft spot for the letter 'R'."
"Red would look horrible on you."
"I look great in anything, Potter, so please restrain your jealousy."
It was Harry's turn to snort, so he was caught off guard when Draco leaned forward and kissed him soundly on the lips. Blinking with surprise behind his glasses, Harry was sure his cheeks were becoming like the red glow of Ron's shirt. Hermione's little 'yes!' was dampened by Ron's trampling feet as he came down the stairs, and his voice screaming, "I'm ready!"
That was Harry and Draco's first kiss.
+
"Well, funerals are silly. Everyone stands around a lost loved one and talks about how great he or she is, but they can't hear how much they will be missed. Shouldn't you tell this person how great they are before it's too late?" - Luna Lovegood
It rained while they were in the carriage but by the time they got to the graveyard it had stopped, much to Hermione's pleasure. It died quickly though as they joined the few members at the site. They moved in a collected mass of black robes - Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Ginny. They were silent as they climbed the hill, as if paying their respects, but Harry’s mind was whirling with her voice and her words - all the last things she said to him while they waited to die in the dungeons. But mostly, he remembered the promise he gave her that day. He knew he had to honor it. But for some reason, he found his insides quivering with a nervous ache; he didn’t know if he could find the strength to do her last wish.
//"I'll make you a promise then," Harry said as he looked back at her. "I won't let anyone do that to you and you won't let anyone do that to me."//
Because, in reality, they both thought they wouldn’t survive to honor those wishes in the end.
Harry was once again grateful for Draco's presence - well, mostly his hand. He squeezed it as he moved to the coffin, breaking through the throng of people already there. The coffin she was in was charmed invisible so that they could still see the body inside. Harry had attended very few funerals in his life, but for the ones he had seen, the bodies had always been pasty white and very stiff. But Harry was surprised to see that there was still color in her cheeks and that her head was tilted to the side, resting against the pillows like she was asleep. One arm was crossed up her stomach with her hand resting on her chest, fingers clutching her restored wand. Her other arm was by her side, her fingers just barely touching the phoenix feather lying by her...Fawkes had donated that.
Harry smiled sadly at the image. Harry heard from many people that when they saw a loved one during a funeral, it looked like they were just sleeping. She was the perfect picture of that. With her head tilted, her hair lying lazily around her in a curtain of blonde-white curls, and resting in her favorite yellow dress, Harry could almost fool himself into squinting and watching her chest rise and fall. A soft ache began in Harry's chest and tickled the back of his throat.
He sniffed and Draco squeezed his hand.
"Would anyone like to say a few words?"
No one spoke at first and a wind passed by, swiping the clouds away from the sky so that sun peeked out and bore down hotly on the backs of their collected necks. Draco stirred uncomfortably next to Harry, drawing himself a bit closer, and Harry felt his throat close up just as he was about to say something. Hermione finally spoke, though, and Harry felt guilty relief.
"Luna was unique," Hermione started strong, her voice trying for fond mirth, but it broke in the end. Tears immediately filled her eyes. She tried blinking them away, sniffling, and in a rare moment of compassion, Ron put a hand under her elbow, as if to guide her.
"Luna was unique," Hermione tried again. "And no matter what you told her, she stood by what she believed in. Let they be things that don't exist-," she gave a tearful laugh at that one, wiping away tears from her cheeks, "-or people against her friends."
Harry felt a knife twist in his stomach. He didn't know if it was from Hermione's words or Luna's echoing last wishes.
Hermione tried to go on, but her voice died in her throat. Ron offered her his cloak and she laughed softly, using it to wipe away her tear-streaked face.
"She was always nice," Neville said softly. "Even when people weren't the same to her."
Harry put a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming and he felt Draco's eyes on him. An unexplainable rage was building in Harry's chest, washing up to his throat to release itself on everyone, and his hand shook in Draco's grasp as he tried to keep it in.
//"So, this is it."
"I'm sorry, Luna..."
"I'm not."//
You promised, Harry thought to himself. You promised her that you wouldn’t let them do this to her.
"She always used to say," Luna's father began and everyone's eyes trained on him, including Harry’s, "that she was going to do something worthwhile, something that would help change or shape the world. I didn't think that it was going to be like-," he stopped, and shook his head, not bothering to wipe the few tears hanging off his cheekbones. "When she said that, I thought she was going to do it...do it some other way."
Harry felt like the breath was knocked out of him and Hermione made a little noise from the back of her throat.
"But now..." her father continued and he looked at Harry. "Now I'm glad she didn't."
Harry was sure that he was never going to be able to breathe again, his lungs emptying out their last breath in a whoosh.
"No matter how much I will miss her," he said with strength. "I know that it was all for the best in the end."
Harry thought he saw Hermione's knees give out but when he glanced over all he saw was Ron holding her against his chest, her face pressed against his cloaked shoulder. She was very still; her shoulders ceased shaking, and seemed to Harry even deader than Luna's corpse in the coffin. After a moment though, she straightened and Ron let her go quickly.
//"It made me really angry."//
There was a moment's silence, people trying to recollect themselves, and Harry ducked his eyes from Mr. Lovegood's piercing gaze and Draco's questioning eyes. Harry was angry too but not like everyone else. Not like Mr. Lovegood, who was angry that his only daughter was gone. Not like Ron and Hermione, who thought it was unjust for her to die. Not like Draco, who burned with an anger Harry couldn’t describe. He was angry at himself for not stopping this from happening. And he was angry that no one else knew Luna’s one true fear. If they cared for her so much, how was it that he was the only one that knew her last wish? Everybody was waiting for the next person to speak, looking around each other with guilty expressions as they scrambled for the next thing to say against Mr. Lovegood's confession. Harry wanted to sneer at them, because he knew that none of them really knew Luna whatsoever. He hated them. It was this anger, this loathing for himself and the disgust for everyone around him that made Harry step forward. He shook his hand free from Draco’s clasp.
"Luna," he started and heads whirled around to look at him with surprise. "Luna was all of those things. And more. She also wasn't a fake. She told the truth, the way she saw it, and went against the mainstream to achieve something different from everyone else." Anger. Anger, it was eating him up and spitting him out in front of all these people. "Yes, she was nice, but she wouldn't soften the words of her opinion to make you feel better." He glanced at Neville, whose eyes ducked when Harry looked at him. He didn’t realize his eyes were hard and cold. "And yes, she followed her beliefs." He looked at Hermione who stared right back at him between her red-rimmed eyes. "But more importantly, she gave her belief in herself to others. On the night she died..." Everyone seemed to take a sharp breath. Harry had never talked about it. "On the night that she died, she gave me her beliefs and I'm going to honor them."
He looked around at all of them before flickering his gaze back down at her sleeping face.
"She would hate this," he spat in a whisper and everyone stirred around him. He continued regardless and smiled tightly at her coffin, raising his voice. "On the night that she died, she told me that she didn't understand funerals." His voice had turned accusatory, against his will. Why didn’t people know this about Luna? This was probably her most important feature and no one seemed to know about it. It made Harry ache with sadness and loss. But it was burned him with fury. "She said she couldn't understand why people would share their feelings and thoughts over a loved one once they're dead, when they had years to say something to their face. When they could hear it."
Harry looked up again at the people around him, daring them to lower their eyes when he stared at them. "I only knew Luna for about three years. And I told her how great I thought she was." Did you ever? "I told her all about the great deeds she had done and what a wonderful person she was going to grow up to be." He paused, his heart aching and his eyes beginning to sting; whether they were tears or wretched fury, he couldn’t tell. "But the one thing I never got to tell her was how grateful I was for her friendship." Harry had to pause. He didn’t mean to confess that. It just slipped out of his mouth. But now everyone was staring at him, urging him to continue in their sadistic ways. His anger began to deflate as he opened his mouth. "Because...by the time I knew how much I valued it, she had already given her life to save me."
He heard something crumble to the ground behind him and he knew it was Hermione. Other than that, everything was completely silent. Not even the wind dared to move and everyone's eyes were still boring into him, seeming to search him. But he knew now that they were searching themselves, recollecting any memories of Luna, trying to find out if they ever told her what they thought of her. Neville was biting his nails. Ron was staring at Hermione who had her face in her hands. Harry knew few would find anything.
"It was her gift," he said softly. "She told me that it was her gift to me. And I never got to thank her for it."
People began sobbing quietly, including Luna's father who finally was trying to wipe away the tears falling from his eyes.
"That's all I need to say to her," Harry continued and was surprised to find that he was the only person not crying. "Even though she can't hear it. I hope that all of you...at some point or another...were able to tell her how much you cared for her. Because that's all she ever wanted." He thought about saying more, but his anger had died a long time ago and so his voice followed it. He found himself deflating, suddenly tired and drained. People continued to cry around them and Harry found himself despising it because he couldn't understand what they were crying for. He could only think that they were crying over themselves, over their lost chance to tell Luna what kind of person she was. And Harry, having told her everything he liked about her, found himself unable to shed a tear for her. He looked around at everyone one more time, took a single, long glance at Luna's peaceful corpse, before turning around and walking away.
When he stormed away, he didn’t take notice of the shadow following shortly behind him until it took his hand. Surprised, Harry looked down at their clasped hands and recognized the pale, flawless skin instantly, but he still looked up. He was startled again into a stop when he looked into Draco’s face. For when he had looked around at everyone’s teary figure, he had missed Draco standing behind. He had missed and been distracted by the disgust and knowledge that they had never told Luna anything. He walked away and never took notice of Draco...until now.
Draco gave him a soft smile. His eyes were dry and red free.
Inside, Harry felt himself shatter into a million pieces and it was the greatest feeling in the world. In that breaking moment, Harry leaned forward as they walked away and returned the kiss Draco had given him that morning.
Draco just smiled.
+
"I don't need to hide anything." - Luna Lovegood
Another month had passed in Harry's last year at Hogwarts and things were beginning to go back to normal. As normal as they could manage anyway. Harry and Ron still neglected their homework to the last moment. Hermione continued to be the smartest girl in class. Draco made sure he could use his witty tongue for every possible moment. With Voldemort gone and the Deatheaters arrested, the school gave a collected sigh of relief and continued on with lighter steps.
Harry seemed to drag behind.
With N.E.W.T.S. just around the corner, Harry had to find time for studying, being with his friends, Quidditch, and now, Draco Malfoy. Sometimes, it was a little stressful, but it failed to compete with Harry's sixth year when Voldemort had gained control in the Ministry, and had sent thousands to kill the legendary Harry Potter. That was stressful. Schoolwork, friends, and boyfriends were a shudder on a tiny pond.
Harry stared at the fire in the Gryffindor common room, sleepy eyes half-closed as Hermione sat nearby, engrossed in a book. Ron had given up with a few other sixth years and had trampled upstairs for bed, but Harry stayed, waiting for the common room to finally be empty.
Harry cast his green gaze at Hermione's bent head as she flipped another page, looking over her figure with glazed eyes. Feeling him staring at her, she lifted her head slightly.
"What is it, Harry?"
When he didn't say anything immediately, she closed the book with a well-earned creak and drew the binds to her chest, staring back at him with wide, open eyes.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied. "Are you?"
She blinked, offering a small laugh. "Of course." She made a move to stand but Harry leaned forward from the confines of his chair, and put restraining fingertips on her wrist. She stilled.
"There's nothing you can do now, you know," he told her, and he couldn't believe that he was giving Hermione advice. "It's over. The war is over."
She didn't reply and Harry took back his hand, studying her profile when she turned her face away from him. The lights of the fire had darkened the bags underneath her eyes, and the warm touch of the fire seemed to suck away the life from her skin, making her look paler. Her hair was one big tangle, a big puff around her face, and needed a desperate cutting. In the last month, Harry had watched Hermione take to her studies like a man trying to drown. Only she was smart enough to keep kicking and knew how to stay afloat. She'd surface from one book and then dive into the next. Harry was waiting for the day when she would no longer have the strength to raise her angled neck from the crusty pages.
"I'm responsible," she said softly, playing with the ends of the book and looking down at the ground. "I shouldn't have let her go with you."
"Hermione -"
"NO!" She shouted and both of them were startled by the volume of her voice. She looked sheepish, a hand covering her mouth, and Harry had moved back into his seat.
"No," she said softer. "I should have been the one to go with you."
Harry's voice gave out on him and he tried to find the right words to say, but nothing seemed to come forth.
"I knew something was wrong," she continued. "I knew that something was going to happen, but like a coward, I stayed behind. I should have told her to stay."
"Why?" Harry asked. "I don't...understand..."
"I'm your friend! I should have stayed with you!"
"Luna was my friend too," he pointed out, slightly angry.
"No!" She said, frustrated. Harry's eyes narrowed and started to stand up.
"I don't have to listen to this-" he snarled angrily, disgusted that Hermione refused to accept Luna after all they had gone through.
"No, Harry!" She grabbed his sleeve in desperation and clung on, looking up at him. "That's not what I meant!"
"Then what did you mean?" Harry barked, starting to shake his wrist to be free of her.
"I meant-" and she started to cry brokenly, causing Harry to stop trying to shove her away. "I meant that I sent both of my friends out there and-" She covered her mouth, releasing Harry and turned away from him. Harry blinked down at her. Both?
"I knew better..." she whispered between her shaking hands. Harry moved slowly to his knees and put his hands on Hermione's shaking shoulders, turning her around and drawing her to his chest. She came willingly, her wet fingers clinging to her best friend's shirt.
"You're so strong, Harry," she rambled, shaking her head and sobbing loudly. Harry put a hand in her hair, stroking the puffy hair awkwardly. "You can always take care of yourself, but Luna..."
Harry didn't understand what Hermione was trying to say. He wasn't strong either.
"I sacrificed her..." she confessed within the fabric of his shirt. Harry looked down at Hermione. "I pointed at the door and told her to go die, when it should have been me."
"Hermione..." Harry's breath came out in another whoosh, shaking his head against the remarkable conclusion Hermione had drawn up herself. He hugged her to him, laying his cheek on the top of her head in comfort, gazing into the fire and listening to her sobs.
"Forgive me, Harry..." Hermione begged, her body trembling within his hands. "Please, Harry, forgive me. I will never be a coward again...I will stand by you always, just please, forgive me..."
Harry's arms tightened around her, closing his eyes, and burying his face into her brown hair. "I forgive you, Hermione."
+
"Anything plain can be lovely." - Luna Lovegood
Me? Strong? Harry thought later that night, lying awake in his bed and listening to his schoolmates' snores. He swallowed thickly on the thought, rolling over onto his side. He wasn't strong...he was just incredibly lucky. Lucky to be alive, lucky to have Hermione, Ron...and Draco. He couldn't believe Hermione was blaming herself for Luna's death. He didn't understand how she had come to such a ridiculous conclusion. It was mind-boggling and he knew that it wasn't anybody's fault but his. He was, of course, the reason for all the deaths, for all the heartache and pain. He was also the end of it. He ended Voldemort's tyranny when he was just a baby, but he was also the reason for his return. He was responsible for the many deaths and many sacrifices they gave when they fought for him and protected him. It was because of him that another war started. But it was because of him that it had ended. Harry was sure that none of this ever would have happened if he had died with Voldemort, died with his parents, sixteen years ago.
But then...he wouldn't have Ron, Hermione...Draco.
He was thankful for his two friends, thankful in a guilty way that it was Luna who had died, and not Hermione. He wasn't sure he would have been able to cope with Hermione's death and secretly, Harry thought Luna knew that. If he had a chance to save one for the other, it would have been Hermione. It didn't mean, though, that Harry didn't cherish Luna - because he did. Cherished her in a completely different way then Hermione. Luna had filled a small hole in Harry that he didn't realize he had until she was there. It was a microscopic hole, like a dent, on his conscious, control, and childhood morals. Luna had taken pieces of her soul and filled it up with determination; a determination that Harry knew she would have used to make sure Harry sacrificed her instead of Hermione.
And Harry was grateful for his friend's loyalty to him. Surely, after first year, they should have dumped him and gave up all the trouble of being his friend. They would have saved themselves a lot - he knew his friendship wasn't worth it. But they hadn't. For some crazy reason, they stayed by him and fought with him. And Harry was sure now that without them, he would have died a long time ago...
But Draco. Now, Draco confused Harry to impossible ends. It wasn't until the end of sixth year that Harry found out about Draco's switched loyalties. It was an unnerving matter, especially considering when he woke up at the Order and went downstairs for breakfast to find Draco sitting there enjoying Mrs. Weasley's homemade orange juice. Old insults were exchanged, followed quickly by a fistfight that Lupin had the honor to end. Harry was sure that Draco was just a spy, his suspicion furthering when special information of the Order's plans had leaked to Voldemort. He had accused Draco outright at dinner sometime during the summer and Draco had only smirked in response. But Harry remembered that after that day those eyes became very cold when they rested on him, a frozen disgust that seemed to wound Harry more then Draco's words ever could.
The only person who was nice to Draco for the majority of that summer had been Luna Lovegood. She and her father had joined the Order after 5th year's events and had become a very close friend to the trio. Ron, for a long time, had a very hard crush on her, but never acted upon it. Hermione said that Luna had returned the feelings at one point in time, but when Ron refused to act on it, she had moved on easily. That was how Luna was, Harry thought fondly. Although she felt very strongly in a burst of emotion, she was the only person in the group who could easily move on when needed to. Harry respected her for that. That respect did go down a couple of points though when Luna seemed to be very keen on Draco. He hated it when she would defend him in a cold, ruthless way, because not only was her tongue incredibly sharp when she wanted it to be, but because when she berated them, she did it in such a way that it made Harry feel like he was two years old. She made them all feel childish and selfish, before sweeping out of the room in a graceful wave that not even Draco could imitate.
Turned out, she was right.
It came to a painful price for Draco - for everyone to believe his loyalty. As they had lain crumbled on the ground after Lucius’s well cast Crucio curse, withering and gasping, Hermione had made a final effort to protect Harry from Avada Kadava by laying herself over his body. In that split second of hesitation on Lucius’s part, Draco had slipped into the room and without a thought had cast the deadly curse to his father's turned back. As the Deatheater fell to the ground in a lifeless heap, Luna began to cry. It was the only time Harry would see her shed tears.
To get where Harry was today had not been an easy task for him or Draco. When Harry came to Draco in guilt, Draco had refused him. When he tried again in anger, Draco snapped back. When Harry came the last time with pity, Draco had punched him. It was only when Draco came to Harry that their tentative friendship began under a cold sky with the heavens painted in residue magic. Their relationship deepened after shared battles, and they only confessed each other's feelings for one another by...not saying anything at all. Instead, one day, Draco had taken Harry's hand in the hallway. Harry let him keep it, and again the next day, and again the next day...
Harry's stomach twisted, feeling a little panicky, and he rolled over onto his back again to see if he could breathe better that way. He liked Draco, he was pretty sure of that. But every time he thought about them going further in their relationship, Harry would get so nervous, he'd make himself sick. He knew that it was what they were supposed to do, if they wanted a relationship to last. To hug, kiss, and eventually have sex. But Harry felt that he could never be ready for that. Never go any further then holding hands and maybe sharing an innocent kiss or two. He feared he lacked the skills to perform any intimate act, and he feared his body most of all. Because it was ugly. There was no possible way for Draco to even want to touch it if he knew what was underneath all the clothes.
Harry began to feel sick again.
He wanted Draco to like his body, wanted Draco to accept all the ugly scars like they weren't even there, but Harry knew it was impossible to ignore them. He could just imagine Draco running his hands over his bare back and the look of disgust that he would try to mask. Harry couldn't do that. Couldn't deal with his disgusting body lying next to Draco's surely flawless finish. He knew Draco loved beautiful things, cherished them in a possessive way. Sometimes it made Harry wonder what the fuck Draco was thinking, dating him. If Draco only knew, he knew he wouldn't want him anymore.
Harry just wasn't sure how long he could keep those fondlings at bay before it all fell apart and Draco left him.
I hope you guys enjoy it so far. I'll post the next part soon. ^_^