A/N: Hey there! It's the first story I publish here. Also, my first story in English. As you may or (hopefully!) may not be able to tell, it's not my native language. Without further ado, read and enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Harry Potter belongs to J. and I don't profit from publishing it.
Marks and ruins
Marks.
Ruins.
Nothing more.
The war left nothing more.
Marks on their bodies.
Ruins in their souls.
No body was the same.
No soul was the same.
Nobody was the same.
He wanted his soul back. How? By getting marks. His pale body became covered in black ink. Arms. Back. Chest. Neck. He designed them all by dragging them out of his own memory. The astronomy tower, the bird in the vanishing cabinet, the Girl tortured on the floor of his home.
The ring on the Girl's finger.
She wanted her marks gone. How? By ruining her body. Her soft skin became covered in cuts. Forearm. Forearm. Forearm. Forearm. She sliced the knife till there was no more space left. One line for Dumbledore, one line for Fred, one line for Sirius, one line for Lupin, one line for every death.
No line for the Boy from her ring.
The Diagon Alley was sad, empty, lifeless. And so were They. Draco, with his body black like the dark pavement. Hermione, with her forearm red like the Mudbloods not welcome signs that still haven't been removed.
He heard the sound of precious metal meeting the cold cobblestone. He picked it up. He saw his name engraved on the inside of the band. He shouted her name.
She heard her name. She heard his voice. She heard the voice of the Boy from her ring. She had lost her ring. She was so thin it must have slid down her finger. She turned her head.
The Diagon Alley was happy, busy, alive. And so were They. Draco, with his used to forbidden love next to him. Hermione, with her used to forbidden love next to her. They found their way back home, to each other.
Together. They were better this way.
No marks mattered.
No ruins mattered.
Together.