A.N.: A bit of a TW for this one for mentions of scars, Sev's father (abuse), and general Marauder-related trauma. No major plot points get established here, so feel free to skip if you want.

"Aren't you warm?" The two of them were laying in bed, covered in blankets. The fire wasn't roaring anymore, but it was still large enough to keep the stone room warm, despite the cold that radiated through the dungeons.

He pulled his sleeves down a little more, shrugging the question off. "A little." They were supposed to be happy. It was winter break, almost all of the students were out on holiday, and they had the castle largely to themselves. But something had been hanging over them for weeks now, something Sev both refused to talk about and longed to tell her, Dumbledore's words burning in his mind.

Hazel frowned, reaching out for his hands. "May I?"

"Yeah." His voice was hollow, but he assented, watching as she rolled up his left sleeve. Both of them stared down at the thing he saw as a horrible blemish, the jet-black Dark Mark that had been burned into his arm several years before. She'd always been fascinated by magical tattoos, the little moving pictures that some people had on their bodies. This one, though, was like a curse scar, something that could be manipulated at will, something that could burn and summon the Death Eaters whenever Voldemort wanted them. It was advanced Dark Magic.

Though he knew she was fine with it, his breath was still a little shallow. She delicately traced a scar next to it, a jagged line in the crook of his elbow. "What's this one from?"

"The Whomping Willow."

He watched her frown, pointing out a sharp line near his thumb. "What about this one?"

"Potion-making accident," he answered diligently, explaining, "ten years ago or so, one of the first years melted a cauldron as I was trying to slice a shrivelfig. Needless to say I had to save the desks and half of the class before they were melted as well." She reached for his right sleeve, raising an eyebrow to ask for permission. "Go ahead."

His right arm was equally pockmarked by scars - from his days as a Death Eater, from James Potter and his gang, from his father. "I remember helping you bandage this one up," she smiled, delicately pointing out the deep wound from when they'd accidentally exploded a cauldron in their sixth year. The focus then had been on keeping their half-brewed potion from destroying the room, and they'd only noticed later how many shards of metal they were covered in.

She was used to him covered in scars, and she was used to him covering them up. She knew how conscious of them he was, how he hated people seeing or knowing about them. The natural nicks and cuts on his hands from making potions were one thing. But the remnants of deep gashes, be they caused by Fluffy, by his time as a Death Eater, or by the countless battles he'd fought at school and at home, were something he hated other people seeing. Even now he would sometimes feel a twinge of self-consciousness over them, even with her. "Can I tell you something?" she asked, leaning in to kiss him. She didn't allow him time to answer. "You're devastatingly handsome, Sev."

The Hogwarts Express had started moving by the time Hazel found him, tucked away alone in a compartment with his Care of Magical Creatures textbook. She immediately noticed the sling on his arm, though Sev didn't mention it when he said hello. "Mind if I join you, or are you working?"

"You can work with me," he offered. Hazel had already taken the seat opposite. "How was your holiday?"

"Good, we had Christmas in Sussex like usual. Dad's family came too, even though it's been nearly ten years. Ten years in May," she recounted as she unpacked some of her books. "How'd you break your arm? You didn't say anything about it in your letters."

"Fell down the stairs," he answered, suddenly not meeting her eye.

Hazel frowned. Something wasn't adding up. "You broke your arm over the holiday and your mum didn't fix it?" she asked skeptically, regarding him across the train car with more than a little suspicion.

"Dad doesn't allow magic in the house," Sev answered, flipping through his textbook.

"Even for that?" Hazel dug her wand out. "Here. Do you trust me?"

"Yeah."

"Brackium Emendo."

It was a strange sensation. He'd expected it to hurt, but it felt more like the static of falling asleep on your arm the wrong way. When the feeling went away, he flexed his fingers, marveling at how well she'd done. "I… thanks."

"You're welcome," she smiled, opening her Charms book. "If you ever want to talk about how you really broke your arm… I'm here."

Sev tried to go back to reading, but he couldn't. "He got really drunk near New Year's. He was yelling at Mum and… she's sick, you know? It was… an instinct, almost. I got between them, and by then he didn't care who he hit." He looked up at her, noticing that she'd set her book aside and was listening intently. "Afterwards, he went down to the pub he's always at and got into a fight with someone there and… he was in the hospital for three days." She waited, sensing there was more. "They said it was some sort of brain hemorrhage. Mum could've fixed it, if she wanted to. She knew the magic. But we were both glad to see him go, in the end."

"I'm sorry." She got up, coming to sit beside him. Gingerly wrapping her arms around him, she continued, "I'm sorry he was like that. I'm sorry he'd hurt you and your mum so much. I'm sorry you've got to figure out what to do now."

"I'm glad he's dead. Is that bad?"

"Considering what he was like? No." Hazel let go of him, turning so they could talk. "I don't think so at all."

Long after that, she noticed he always wore long sleeves, even in the hottest weather. When she thought about it, he'd always done it before, too. Over the summer between their sixth and seventh years, when he'd come to her mum's funeral and stayed for a few days, he always wore them. And when he went to visit her at her aunt and uncle's.

In their seventh year, she came to understand that for at least part of the time, he was hiding the Dark Mark that some of the most devoted Death Eaters bore. But even before then, she'd always been careful. Aunt Violet had told Hazel something that stuck with her, even now. They had been sitting in her kitchen, watching her uncle out tending the beehives, when she'd asked what Sev's family was like. Hazel had answered truthfully, and Aunt Violet frowned. "I should have known. I should've seen it in the clothes. Children who come from families like his get used to hiding things. Even now, his dad's been gone for what, a year and a half? Two years? It's become a comfort. That poor boy…"

When he'd shown up at her door in the middle of the night, nearly bleeding out in her kitchen, she'd been careful to ask. Even now he still wore long sleeves all of the time. Part of it was to hide the Dark Mark that he had come to detest. Part of it was to cover up all of the scars of his childhood. Part of it was how used to it he'd become. He would only roll his sleeves up if he knew he was going to be completely alone and undisturbed. The first time he'd done it in front of her, she'd smiled to herself, not wanting to mention it. But she knew it was a sign he was getting comfortable around her, comfortable enough that she didn't count as "the rest of the world" now.

Even after she'd seen much more of him than just his arms, she was always sure to ask before undoing any of the buttons, before delicately removing the sleeves that he always itched to pull further down his arms. If they were sitting together and he'd decided to roll his sleeves up, she would reach for his hand, kissing it before settling in to hold onto him as she read or graded essays. It made him smile a little. He knew that she knew. He knew that she understood. And he knew that she wasn't going to force him to talk about it if he didn't want to.

He pulled her to his chest, saying, "I have to do something horrible and I need you to believe me. I don't… I can't do this on my own. I'm too wound up in all of this, and I can't stop or we're all going to die... but I can't do this on my own. I need you to believe me."

"Sev, whatever Dumbledore wants you to do, I'm going to be here. I promise." He'd mentioned it a lot recently. Clearly whatever he'd vowed to do was something he was extremely worried about, something he knew wouldn't end well. She'd gotten bits and pieces of details, but he refused to tell her what he was going to do.

"Everyone is going to hate me," he continued. "No one can know the truth, but -"

"How bad is it? Can you at least tell me that? If you're this worried it can't be something small."

He was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how much he could practically say without giving it away. "I have to kill someone." It was the first time he'd said it out loud to anyone aside from Dumbledore. And Narcissa and Bellatrix, if their coded language counted for anything.

It was her turn to weigh the impact of the words. "Is it me?" she finally asked, her heart in her throat. "Sev, is it -"

"No. That I can promise you," he said, kissing her on the forehead. Almost as an afterthought, he added an, "If that were the case… I would have to break an Unbreakable Vow. I couldn't..."

Hazel sat up so she could look at him properly. "Sev… Whatever this is, if Dumbledore thinks it's the right thing to do… it's got to be for the greater good. If you're that bound to it, if you have to do it, fine. It's… it's not okay, and it's not right to make you do it, but if this is one of the things we have to do to kill Voldemort… I believe you. I'm going to believe you. And I promise I'm going to be here for you," she said, her voice softening. "I love you, Sev. I love you and if you say it has to be done, I believe you."

"You have to keep it a secret," he instructed. "The world has to hate me, or the Dark Lord will figure all of this out. If he does... death would be a mercy compared to what he does to make an example out of a spy. But please, Hazel, I can't go through this alone."

With a sigh, she assented. It was going to be awful watching everyone turn against him. So many people distrusted him now, but it seemed like he was preparing for even more people to not just distrust him, but to abjectly hate him. "Of course, Sev. Whatever you need."

He pulled her back down beside him, ignoring the fact that they were going to be late for breakfast. "Thank you. I love you."

"I love you too. And I promise I'll still love you after."