Permanent Scars

Chapter eleven

Dumbledore had asked Harry if he would mind staying from supper to just before curfew four times a week.

Harry had no idea what he and Draco would do once supper was over, so he decided to bring his book bag with him, just in case. With his bag slung over his shoulder, he walked briskly along the fifth-floor corridor looking for Draco's room.

As he got closer and closer to his destination, his hands broke out in sweat. His anxiety levels rocketed. Even though he had asked to be the one to keep Draco company, he felt a lot of trepidation about Draco's reaction to him being there.

He came to Draco's door sooner than expected. Taking a deep breath, he knocked. Harry could hear footsteps, and the door opened.

Draco stood there wearing dark blue wizarding robes. His face looked stormy and petulant. He frowned, and then grudgingly stepped aside so that Harry could enter the room.

Draco was inwardly fuming. He didn't see why he had to be stuck with Harry, of all people. He still hated him for what had happened, and the thought of being forced to be with him all evening was infuriating.

He stalked over to the table, and threw himself into one of the seats. Harry sat down across from him, and for the first time, Draco noticed how awful Harry looked. His robes looked like he had slept in them. His hair looked even worse than normal, all tangled and wild.

"God Potter, you look like crap. Is Weasley keeping you up at night with stories of how he fucked Hermione?" asked Draco nastily.

Harry flushed, then retorted, "Don't talk about my friends like that. It's got nothing to do with them. I just feel tired. I've been having nightmares a lot... about what happened."

"You mean when your incompetence made me second in attractiveness only to a Blast-Ended Skrewt?" Draco said, enraged at the mention of the accident. He could feel his fury at being scarred bubbling up inside of him.

Harry looked at Draco, surprised by his anger. "I thought we had this all sorted out. I already told you I was sorry about it."

Draco looked at Harry as if he would like to attack him. His fingers itched to get around Harry's neck and squeeze, ridding himself of the person that had contributed to his recent anguish.

"So, saying your sorry makes everything better, does it, Potter? How fucking arrogant of you to think that just because you've said you're sorry that I am just okay with what happened. I am NOT okay with what happened, and I am never going to BE okay with it." Draco yelled, furious.

Harry didn't know what to do, what to say. He just sat there at the table staring up at Draco, who was now standing over him.

The injustice of everything that had happened was overwhelming Draco. He started trashing his room, throwing things about and breaking them. The sound of smashing glass filled the room.

Harry jumped up from the table to stop him. He tried to grab him around the waist, but Draco twisted around, and roughly shoved him away. Harry fell hard to the floor.

Draco raged until all of his anger was dissipated. Then, he fell, exhausted, onto the floor. He laid there, his cheek against the cold, stone floor. He was breathing hard; his mind was devoid of emotion. He felt a hollow emptiness inside of him where the rage had been.

He lay there, and thought about what he had lost in the last few months. He thought about losing his family, and the pain was like a knife twisted into his chest.

He could hear Potter casting Reparo, fixing all the things that he had broken.

If only, he thought to himself, if only Reparo worked on people too.