For Liza. I hope you enjoy.
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Draco is four when the first bruise appears on his knee. It looks foreign on pale skin, as if it's almost healed, but is very visible to the eye. He doesn't remember getting it. He walks over to his mother, and requests a healing spell.
She sets him up on the counter and examines his knee. After a moment, she murmurs, "Episkey."
Draco glances down at his knee where the bruise is still very much there. He frowns. "Mother?"
She smiles at him, brushing down his platinum hair. "The bruise will go away on it's own. No magic will heal it because it's not your bruise."
He doesn't understand. It's on his skin, and therefore, it should be his bruise.
His mother leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead. He shies away from her affection. "You'll understand when you're older," she says. She picks him up and sets him on the ground. "Run along."
.
Draco is nearly eleven the first time that an angry looking red mark on his wrist appears. It doesn't hurt; the injuries never do. But it's different from the usual array of bruises that marr his pale skin.
He wonders what the red mark means. Wonders what has changed in order for the bruises to be red instead of the normal ugly purple.
He sighs and pulls his sleeves down even further.
.
"What's that?" Blaise asks.
Draco slips his shirt on before turning to face the other boy, buttoning it up as quickly as possible, as if the injury could be unseen. He simply raises an eyebrow at him.
"There's a large red mark on your back," he explains, gesturing to his own back. When he does, Draco sees the handprint bruise on Blaise's wrist when his sleeve rides up.
He's seen that bruise, on Theo right before he left the room. His brain connects the dots quickly, from what his mother said when he was four to seeing their matching bruises. These injuries are someone else's.
He draws his eyes away from the bruise, reminding himself that he's still talking to Blaise. "Not my mark," he answers.
He's not even sure why he's confessed that to Blaise, but he sees understanding pass through Blaise's eyes. "Happen often?"
Draco laughs humorously. "All the fucking time," he replies.
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Another red mark appears on his wrist. It happens fairly frequently, more frequently than Draco would like. They always appear right in the area that if he shifts just right, his sleeve will ride up and the injury will be exposed.
And it's not that he's ashamed of the marks. He kind of likes the idea of having someone...connected to him. But the angry red marks that look suspiciously like burn marks. Which means that the person who is sharing injuries with him is getting hurt on a semi-frequent basis.
Draco's not sure why that idea bothers him so much. So he pulls his sleeves down further and hopes that the other person heals it soon.
.
He needs a fresh start. He needs something other than a stifling home with a mother who has lost too much the day his father was sent to Azkaban. It's why he ends up in Romania, at the Dragon Reserve - it's far enough away that his name is unknown and no one cares who he is.
It's a fresh start.
"Get down!" is all the warning he get before he feels heat engulf him. He raises his arms instinctively to protect his head.
The pain that flares in his wrist is almost instantaneous. When the flames die down, a red-haired man is standing in front of him, glaring. "Watch where you're going next time."
"Who the hell are you?" Draco demands, glancing down at his wrist. He's seen this pattern before, the way that his skin turns an angry red. But instead of just being smooth and flat, it's raised up and Draco knows that it will possible scar.
"The person who just saved your life," the man replies. "Come on, Zoe, we need to finish."
As the man grabs for the bucket at his feet, Draco can see an angry red mark on his wrist. It's shaped exactly like the one on his own wrist. But the man is gone before Draco has the chance to speak again.
.
He's only been at the Dragon Reserve for a week and there's already another red mark on his arm. He now knows where all those burn marks came from. It makes sense. From what Draco has seen of the job, it's dangerous.
But this is getting ridiculous. Before he can talk himself out of it, he struts up to where that red haired man is standing, talking with a beautiful blonde woman. He recognizes her as the woman from before. "Do you actually mind?" Draco demands.
The man turns towards him, tilting his head, "Sorry?"
Up close, this man is undeniably handsome with sunburn hair and freckles painting patterns on his face. If it had been just two years ago, Draco would've pushed that thought out of his mind. But a lot has changed in the past two years.
Draco pushes up his sleeve, showing the angry red mark on his pale wrist. The woman laughs, and the man rubs the back of his neck nervously, showing the matching angry red burn mark on his own wrist.
"I've been meaning to get it healed. I just -"
"Am an idiot," the woman cuts across. She gives Draco a sympathetic look. "He likes to keep them as long as possible. Battle scars, he calls them."
Draco rolls his eyes. "Figures," he mutters.
.
He's not sure why he's standing in the middle of the Hospital Wing of the Reserve. The white lines running down his arm had started to disappear by the time he opened the door anyways.
But when he opens the door, he see Charlie Weasley standing there, shirtless, talking with a Healer. Even from this distance, Draco can see familiar faint white lines on his back. Draco is moving before he can talk himself out of it.
He runs his fingers down a thin white line. It stands out against the others that are raised scar tissue, dozens of them intermingled with other scars. They are foregin on tanned skin. He knows these scars; they're his. He sees them every time that he changes.
He's ashamed of these scars. He never expected to see them on Charlie.
In all the years that he's been marred with bruises and burn marks and other injuries, he never expected it to go the other way.
Charlie lifts his hand and covers Draco's, holding his hand still. "Until I was twenty-four, I was wondering if I would ever share injuries with anyone. Three scratches down my left arm appeared that year."
Draco frowns, remembering the Hippogriff incident of his third year. "So you've known that you share injuries, but you don't heal your own?" Draco questions, raising his eyebrow.
Charlie laughs full heartedly. "In most cases, the injuries don't go both ways. If I thought it went both ways, I would've healed myself."
Draco rolls his eyes as Charlie puts his shirt back on. Charlie finishes getting ready in silence. As he's about to walk out the door, Draco says, "Heal them next time."
Charlie just smirks. "You'll have to convince me of that."
"By the look on your face, you have something in mind," Draco states.
Charlie's smirk grows. "A date might help. How about 8 o'clock? I'll meet come to your flat."
A/n - so many thanks to Po, Lo, Rish and Tedz who all helped with this. They are all beautiful.