Harry traced the long twisting scar across the pale torso. The skin felt silky smooth to his touch as the boy slowly breathed in and out. His stomach barely lifting from the intake of air. It pained Harry to see that scar. The one he had carved into the flesh. He hadn't meant to. It was done in a flash of panic. Tracing it slowly with his fingers always made him relive those horrific moments within the bathroom. The blood. The running water. The mess of blonde hair, so out of place.
Draco stared down at the raven haired boy resting on his chest. Running the mop of hair between his fingers. He could smell it over the sandalwood he scented his room with. It smelt sweet. Almost of treacle. Draco ran the edge of his tongue over his lips slightly. Wondering if Harry's lips tasted of the same treacle he smelt of.
It was moments like this Draco liked the most. Just laying there. Without a care in the world. With Harry. It seemed almost perfect. The horrors of his past seemed to die out and everything was calm in the battle that was his mind. What he never knew was Harry ached inside. Filled with grief and regret. He could never forget the moments of torture he had endured on the blonde. The pain he had caused. He almost always forgotten about the pains that had been caused him. It wasn't like he mattered anyway. This was Draco Malfoy. His life, to Harry, far succeeded his own. Draco never knew this and if he did he would have protested. Time and time again as Harry doubted himself and deemed himself not worthy because, in the eyes of Draco, it was him who was not worthy.
Draco liked to remember moments of him and Harry laying together whilst Harry traced his scar. A momento of their past. If only he had known. If only he had then he could have stopped it. Throwing off the silk sheets he walked to the bathroom. Splashing the sharp cold water from the basin in his face he caught his haunting reflection in the mirror. His eyes had deep dark circles around them and his hair was no longer well kept. He looked wild. As he shuffled back into the bedroom Draco groaned at the waft of sandalwood hit his nostrils.
Laying back down in the bed Draco reached over to the bed side cabinet and pulled down a picture frame. Gently he placed in on the pillow next to him, his face almost touching the glass. In the photograph the two people continued to smile carelessly, pushing each other around. If only he had noticed he would still be there. Next to him, laughing for real. Maybe if Draco had seen the signs Harry would still be around.
It was too late for maybes. The treacle smell was never coming back. The tracing of the scars. No more smiles or gentle laughs. Draco thought of this and couldn't help but think it was all his fault. If he had been sooner then none of this would be happening. If he had noticed sooner then Harry Potter would still be alive. It was all his fault, and that was all Draco thought about until he crept into a menacing and unresting sleep.