Scarred Flesh

A/N: Plot bunnies are vicious little creatures that seem to have nothing better to do than to drag a poor tired author out of a nice warm bed in the early hours of the morning.

J. K. Rowling owns the Potterverse. I am not she. No money is being made, no harm is intended.

Unbeta’d

Scarred Flesh

The tall, thin, dark haired man scowled as he stared into the full-view mirror adorning his bathroom in the dungeons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A maze of scars, both old and newer crisscrossed his torso, arms and legs. Scars that bore testament to the horrors he had been forced to endure during the long years of his life. Scars that reveal the price paid by an innocent child for having a neglectful and abusive family. Scars that map out the usual childhood bumps and scrapes. Scars that show the true horrors that a Dark Lord could inflict on a frail body. Scars that disclose just how much torture a body can endure and still survive. Scars that became the only badge of honor one had to show for a lifetime spent in fighting an evil wizard. And finally, the scars that took the place of a medal never received for services rendered in the line of duty for the good of the wizarding world.

Sighing, the unsmiling man raised a finger to trace the mass of tortured flesh that was his left forearm. The scar he had received from the Dark Lord. Of all his scars, that was the most gruesome and the one for which he took the most pleasure in avenging himself. Looking more closely at his chest now, he noted that there was very little unmarked skin to be found on his chest and abdomen. There was an old scar from that time he tripped on the stairs and fell as a child. And another, from a particularly bad potions accident. Here was one he had earned while trying to escape an enraged werewolf. And a long, slender scar received from an irate Lucius Malfoy, whom he had had the misfortune to infuriate once.

Turning slightly, the stoic man could see that his back was even more scarred than his front. Some were old; souvenirs from beatings with a worn leather belt, some were from hexes gone awry, some were from torture sessions with the Dark Lord, and some were from the final battle with that very bastard, standing side by side with the other members of the Order of the Phoenix as they were ultimately able to defeat the evil wizard once and for all. Oddly enough, it wasn’t just the Boy-Who-Lived who vanquished Voldemort, but a combination of spells and hexes from several key wizards who had worked together as a team to destroy the wizard who was once known as Tom Riddle.

Smirking as he remembered the outrage from the wizarding community as they realized that they would not have their golden boy to idolize anymore, the dark haired wizard reflected that that had led to there being no medals awarded for that day’s dangerous work. Instead, all the wizards who had stood together on the battlefield against the Dark Lord had been ignored or worse, ostracized. The public had been denied their hero and they had responded by declaring the warriors to be glory hounds instead of victorious heroes.

The scarred wizard had long ago learned to avoid the spotlight. Life was much simpler in the shadows. He would allow others to bask in the limelight while he enjoyed the peace and solitude that being ignored allowed. His most precious trophy in life was the anonymity in which he now found himself. That he had been rejected by the general public was a blessing. The tall wizard turned to fully face the mirror again as he realized that he was now truly happy in his life, scars notwithstanding. He was left alone for the most part with only a few close friends and acquaintances bothering to remember him. Here at Hogwarts he was free to teach ungrateful little brats who didn’t appreciate the honor and privilege they had been given. Here in the dungeons he could retreat and leave the idiocy of the wizarding world behind him as he closed and warded his doors. Yes, the scars had all come with a price, but they were also a symbol of the freedoms he had won.

Without looking around, he could tell that his lover and bond mate had entered the room. He smirked as he thought about the passionate night they had shared and the reason his love had slept in today. “Still admiring your scars, Harry?” Severus asked as he slipped his arms around the dark haired man.

“You know me, Sev. Just checking to make sure everything is still there,” Harry grinned as he turned in his mate’s embrace. Yes, he bore a multitude of scars, but he had earned every one of them.


~The End~