Battlescars

The angry red lines criss-crossed as they traveled down the pale back. Harry gasped in surprise at the extent of the damage. He traced lightly over the marred skin, eliciting a shiver from the recipient. After showing each the same amount of attention, he moved to the arms.

'Faith' was carved in the upper left bicep from when the lack of it became apparent. Lines zigg-zagged down both forearms from when the anger got the better of the owner. Deep gashes on the wrists when suicide was attempted. Then the chest.

Slices down the abdomen from extensive torture sessions, fighting for the light by spying on the dark. Mottled skin where the blood was caked on so much it left a stain, like wine on a white carpet.

Crescent-shaped form on the upper thigh, next to the word pain. For when thoughts formed, thinking it would never end. Down the calves, long whip marks for disobedience. The word trust put in the left calf when there was no one else to put it in. On to the feet.

Three toes missing and one long, thin line down the sole of one foot. The other foot was unscarred. The only part of the body that seemed to be perfect. Finally, the face.

One gaping wound above and below the right eye. The nose was crooked from being broken too many times. Lips cracked and bleeding. Two chipped teeth from having been smashed into the floor. A hole in the left eyebrow form having an earring ripped out. And lastly, a curved line tracing the prominent cheekbone on the aristocratic face.

He took his time, sliding the slightly chapped and chewed lips over every imperfection, making them perfect in the process. Taking extreme care, as if handling an infant. Hands running through the pale, baby-fine, blond hair.

"How?"

"How what?" Harry asked back.

"How can you stand to look at me? How can you kiss me, touch me?"

"No matter what you look like on the outside, you're still the same on the inside. Still the same person I fell in love with and your appearance can never change that .*

Harry looked up, adoration shining in the emerald gems as he gazed at the slate-gray eyes of his friend and lover. Draco's gaze fell to the floor as he sighed.

"It's just not fair, you know?" he started. Harry tried to comfort him, but Draco cut him off. "No, don't go and try to make me feel better. I'm a freak! I'm scarred and I don't know why you're still here . . . . . why you even bother. . . ." he trailed off, throwing himself on the leather couch of his prefect room. Harry walked over to him, took his face in his hands, and gave him the most passionate kiss he could manage.

The two boys broke away a few minutes after that, the need for air becoming too great. Harry settled down behind Draco, drawing his body towards his own to keep warm. They stared at the flames in the fireplace, licking at the bricks encasing it and slowly drifted into sleep, each trying to understand the other's battle scars.