Prompt: "little bruises and cuts that show up on your body seemingly out of nowhere are actually little injuries that happened to your soulmate, and you get the same marks on your skin as them."

FREE FOR USE. Just post a review/PM me telling me what the story you used this in is called, and I'll add your name and story title/id number to the list.

Rules:
Canon until 6th book (you can AU ending or w/e of 7th, as long as same people died.
George, Ron, Hermione, Harry, Luna and Neville live together to help look after each other after the Great Battle. None are married.
Canon pairings EXCEPT HARRY - this is a DRARRY FIC. (In this fic Draco was attacked by old Gryffindor classmates who blamed him for 7th Year, then he escaped to somewhere where he knew the occupants wouldn't kill him. He trusted their group as they had been getting over their past and slowly warming up to him.)
Harry's wounds only started showing up after his 'death' in 7th Year.

Enjoy writing!

Harry was confused. He didn't like it.

For a year now he'd woken up each morning to find his chest, shins and elbows covered in bruises and small cuts. He knew that he'd never done anything to earn them (except for that one on his toes, he'd dropped a heavy metal pot on his foot), but they just kept appearing.

He grumbled as he gingerly shuffled into the kitchen, favouring his left leg as the bruises on that shin complained loudly; the injuries all over seemed to be a lot worse than normal this morning. He had just reached the bench and was about to put on his pot of coffee when the door to the living area opened and a smaller figure stepped through, stretching her arms above her head.

"Mornin'." Harry yawned as he flipped on the coffee machine and Hermione nodded as she absently scratched the top of her shoulder, moving the top of George's sweater out of the way so she could get the itch properly. Harry looked down at her feet and sure enough, his socks were on her feet again.
"Must you always steal my socks?" He sighed as he removed the pot and began to pour out the hot coffee into a couple of cups, pushing one across the island bench toward Hermione, who took it with a small smile.

"What can I say? They're warmer and thicker than my own socks. Plus Ron keeps stealing mine." She grumbled as she dumped a spoonful of sugar into her black coffee, stirring it absently as her mind drifted.

"I think you're just trying to establish dominance. It's working." He added and Hermione grinned. She shook herself and threw the spoon towards the sink, smiling to herself as it landed in it with a thunk.

"So, any plans for today?" She asked before taking a mouthful of coffee, making a face at the amount of sugar she had placed within.

Harry nodded slowly as he placed the milk back in the fridge, having just poured a measure into his own cup. "It's May Second." He murmured quietly and Hermione was distantly aware of her cup cracking in her hands, spilling coffee all over the benchtop and her hands as she stared at him in shock.

May the Second. The day that their childhood was torn away from them forever; no hope of ever regaining it. The day of the Great Battle as the Daily Prophet had labelled it; the day of Harry's death, their loss of Fred, Tonks, Remus, Colin Creevy, and so many others that Hermione felt that she couldn't breath, like there were iron bands around her chest.

"Hermione! Breathe!" Harry's voice faintly registered in her ears, along with a faint yell from further away, which served to catch Harry's attention. "Ron, get in here!" Was added, and immediately running feet were heard before suddenly her vision was filled with red hair, tied back with a black band but looking fluffed up from sleep. Ron's calm voice washed over Hermione until she became aware again, finding herself in her boyfriend's lap on the couch nearby. Harry was kneeling beside Ron, rubbing a Burn-Healing paste onto his hands, which sported a harsh red burn over his fingers and palms.

She had just opened her mouth to apologize when the door to outside burst open and a figure fell inside, collapsing onto the cold marble floor and unmoving.