Scars That Never Felt A Wound

Thank you for the lovely reviews and support. And thank you to my betas.

I want to preface this chapter by noting that this story is a slow build. It's heavy on characterization. I appreciate your patience. As promised, I will update weekly and I'm working diligently on future chapters.

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Bright, light pierced Draco’s eyes as they fluttered open, only to close again. He tried to adjust his distorted vision but all he could make out were small pin points of white stars, yet he knew he wasn’t outside. His back was resting on a something soft and he felt the light material of a sheet covering him.

Where was he, exactly? Not his room, he knew. The pain registered at that moment.

Oh, his bloody body hurt all over. Did someone take a bludger to him?

His body wasn’t responding to any movement commands. Was he tied down? Why did he feel bruised and tender? Why did his throat feel as if he’d swallowed a brick?

Trying to move once again, he stilled at a distant voice.

“Shut up, Ron! You’re an insensitive pig.”

“But Mione.”

“No! He saved my life. Don’t you understand?”

“No, I don’t. Don’t you understand, he won’t thank you or appreciate your being here?”

“Just go.”

He heard the click of a door open and close. Struggling, he tried to turn his head towards the source of the sound but slipped back into the cool darkness.

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A deep, gnawing pain in his right leg woke him. The room was mercifully dark. No stabbing light to hurt his eyes. While images didn’t seem to be as blurry as before, nothing was crystal-clear. His attempt to turn his head failed. But in his peripheral vision, he could see the figure of a woman resting on an oversized chaise in the corner of the room.

Mother?

A door opened and closed. Soft footsteps echoed in the room, or his mind – he honestly couldn’t tell. A tiny feminine figure encased in insane curls entered his vision.

Granger?

Gentle, dusky tones seem far away.

“Mrs. Malfoy? Here’s your tea.”

“Thank you, Hermione. Lucius?”

“He’s with the special Healer. I’ll stay with him if you’d like to step outside.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Why wouldn’t hips lips cooperate? Subconscious shadows loomed and overtook the precious waking moment.

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He was floating.

Sighing, he nuzzled into the soft caresses trailing over his skin. It felt like dozens of tiny faery wings beating lightly all over his body.

And he even had his own personal pixie.

“Draco, please be all right. Please wake up.”

Oh, how he longed for her to say his name again and again.

He slept on.

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He bolted straight up from the bed, screaming. “NOOOOOO!”

Several pairs of hands attempted to restrain him. He thrashed and buffeted his body in defiance as he was pushed down into a soft surface.

“Draco!”

Father?

He couldn’t tell. “GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!”

“DRACO! OPEN YOUR EYES! SON! OPEN YOUR EYES!”

Held down, yet still flailing, Draco slowly willed his eyes to do as commanded. Expecting the white, blinding light, he was pleased at the dimness that greeted him. He was reclined on something . . . a bed, perhaps. Shadows were surrounding his body.

He fought to clear the misty fog covering his eyes. Blinking a few times, the shadow figures began to take shape. The first things that registered were concerned grey eyes and long, platinum locks.

“Fa . . . der?” His voice was untried and coarse.

The shape seemed to nod. Closing his eyes once more, Draco squeezed them tightly and then flung them wide. Yes, that was his father. He could see better, now.

He shifted slightly. That unknowing, deep, aching pain was still there in his right leg. Where was he? What happened?

“Draco?” A tender voice he instinctively recognized as his mother’s called to him.

Tilting his head, his mind was surprised at the sight of his lovely mother’s face. She looked haggard, drawn and pale. Her normally perfectly coiffed locks were tied back, with no style to speak of. Tiny lines of worry peppered the areas around her eyes and mouth. For the first time that Draco could ever remember, his mother looked old.

“M-m-mo . . . mo . . .” He couldn’t finish, he was exhausted and felt as if he’d been mauled by a dozen Inferi.

A new voice, tingling, light and very sweet drifted over him. “Rest, Draco.”

He knew he was dreaming because that sounded like Granger and it couldn’t be. Turning his head, however, his glassy eyes met with concerned warm, deep amber ones. His lips twitched. Why was she here?

He didn’t like that Granger’s face was just as colorless as Mother’s, her normally creamy complexion seemed dull. Gone was the sweet blush of pink that always seemed to grace her cheeks, instead she looked tired and worn. But her eyes sparkled as she stared at him. His heart felt full at the sight of her and the pain seemed to lessen.

“Mr. Malfoy.” Another voice. Male. Serious. “I’m Healer Pembroke. You’re a lucky young man. We were worried, it’s been a month.”

He was parched, his throat dry. Opening his mouth to speak, words were quelled by a harsh coughing fit.

At his side in a flash, his mother lifted his head and helped him take a sip of cool water. It was like manna. Draco couldn’t remember tasting anything more delicious. “More,” he rasped. He drank greedily, unthinkingly raising trembling hands to hold the glass; drops dribbling down his chin.

He didn’t notice.

“Slow down, darling.” His mother carefully pried the tumbler from his fingers and settled him back onto what he assumed was a pillow.

“W-w-where am I? What happened? The battle?” He didn’t sound like himself. His vocal chords felt rough and unused, his mouth tasted of rust and dirt. Confused and disoriented, he tried to shake off the chronic pain of his right leg. He looked down at his body covered by a thin sheet. Something wasn’t right. Something didn’t feel right. His leg seemed deformed and misshapen. His fingers plucked at the covers. “My leg . . . hurts . . .”

His mother touched and stilled his hand, shaking her head. “Draco, don’t.” Her eyes welled with tears.

“Mum?” Icy fingers of fear gripped his heart. There was no mistaking the flashes of concern or looks of discomfort from the others around his bed. “What is it?” Cold suspicion seeped into his bones. “What? Tell me! What?”

Angry, he lifted the sheet.

It couldn’t be. No, his eyes were deceiving him.

It. Could. Not. Be.

At first, Draco didn’t register the howl of horror swallowing all other sounds as his own rage-filled scream of terror. He had just descended into the dark underworld of chaos. Everyone in the room, and undoubtedly on the fourth floor of St. Mungo’s, stopped dead in their tracks, aghast at the guttural cry that ripped out of the room and rushed down the corridors.

Draco’s was experiencing vertigo, despite not moving. Everything was spinning as he attempted to make sense of the sight before him. He looked up searching for answers. But he found none.

They were staring at him. His mother cried silently. His father wore a stoic mask but the pain in his eyes was unmistakable. The Healer gazed at him with appropriate aloof sympathy.

That’s when he saw her watching him. Those rich, coffee-colored eyes were large and doe-like, overflowing with compassion. Of all the people in the world, she was the last person he wanted seeing him in this condition and looking at him that way.

He didn’t need, want or merit her pity. Amid the shocked stares of his parents and healer, Draco lashed out at the tiny, brunette witch.

“You,” he snarled, pointing at Hermione. “Out. Get the fuck out!” Draco’s fisted hands pounded on the bed. “Did you not hear me? Get out! Of all the bloody people . . . I don’t want you here! Why are you here, anyway? You don’t belong here!”

Hermione flinched as if he’d struck her. Fat drops leaked from her eyes. “Draco, please, I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me.”

Why wasn’t the cow leaving? Draco was near hysterics, bellowing at the top of his lungs. “Get out! Just get out! NOW!” He continued to scream and shriek until she ran from the room, her face stained and streaked with tears.

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