Draco said nothing as Harry shakily led him back to his bedroom – more posters – and curled up with him beneath the sheets. He couldn't really understand why he was going to these lengths, he'd never really been one to cuddle, but Harry was just trembling so fucking bad, it made his heart twist. So he was silent as he allowed the brunette to scoot his back up to his chest, and agreeably wrapped him up in his arms.
For some reason, sleepless nights in St. Mungo's flashed behind his eyes as he held the quaking Seeker to himself. How different an experience it would've been if he'd had someone to hold him like this. Five years ago, he would've laughed himself hoarse if he'd walked in on a trembling and weeping Gryffindor, but only a bitter lump formed in his throat now.
He didn't truly understand his aversion to being touched, or his preference for Draco's, but hesitantly, he decided to run his hand up Harry's stomach. His body boasted a fair bit more hair than Draco, and he found the sensation very pleasant. A stuttering sigh left the body in his arms as he trailed his fingers up to thread through his coarse chest hair, and then back down to where it turned soft around his navel. Dipped slightly further, twirling his pubes in his fingers.
A certain sense of awe gaped in his chest as he allowed those fingers to slide to his hip, up his ribs, and back to his chest. He wasn't looking for more, really, he was just… Touching. And ever so slowly, Harry's shaking eased.
"Feels nice," he uttered quietly as he pressed himself slightly further back against Draco. He smiled.
"You're not so bad yourself."
Withdrawing his arm from beneath Harry's, he decided to try to run his fingers through his hair. And was once again surprised with how soft it was. As terribly knotted as it looked, he found it simply in disarray, and his fingers made quick work combing through it.
"Why're you being so nice to me?"
Draco couldn't help but chuckle. After the three times they'd now had sex, he still wondered why he didn't hate him anymore. As if such childish rivalries would've lasted all these years.
"Maybe I like being the only one who gets to touch you."
Harry exhaled a long, relieved sigh as Draco started running his nails against his scalp. The corners of his lips wouldn't lower.
"C-can I… See your scars?"
His hand stilled in his hair.
"Why?"
The ear beneath him pinked slightly as Harry curled into himself.
"I-I just… N-nevermind…"
He wants to see all my damage? Seems an odd circumstance for it, but he asked last time, too…
"I don't mind. Just curious why you want to see."
Draco laid his arm gently over Harry's waist again as the brunette twisted to peer up at him. His green eyes fluttered slightly, and he heard him swallow, but then he spoke.
"I-I just… Feel like I'm this… Tattered, torn-up mess, and you're just… You're too perfect to believe. I can't… Wrap my h-head around it…"
Perfect? Suddenly, it made sense to him. So with a crease in his brow, he reached behind himself and grasped his wand from the sheets. Far from it.
"Finite incantatem," he muttered, wand pointed at himself, as he lay back on the mattress. And Harry twisted fully to face him, one elbow propped beneath him as countless scars appeared on Draco's skin.
He swallowed thickly at Harry's wide gaze that traveled his length, but didn't try to hide from him. After how vulnerable he'd been with him, he thought it only fair he return the favor. He did flinch, initially, when Harry reached out to stroke the stretch of a scar across his hip, but only silently allowed his exploration.
"Jesus," he whispered as those fingers traveled up his torso. He knew exactly why, too, when those callused fingertips swept the length of the biggest scar diagonally across his chest. Harry's handiwork, no less. The brunette frowned, but didn't comment on it as his eyes finally lighted on Draco's arm.
Twitching a wince, he lifted it for him. Allowed Harry to gently brush his fingers against the countless little white lines that latticed his arm from wrist to elbow. Thankfully, no Dark Mark lay beneath them anymore, but he didn't doubt Harry knew exactly how his arm had come to look like this. And made no move to explain himself, either.
One long, angry pink line stretched lengthwise across the other small scars, and he wondered if Harry knew how he'd finally been rid of the Dark Lord's brand. He wouldn't volunteer the information, as gruesome as it was, but if he asked, he'd tell him. He was just starting to squirm under Harry's observation when those green eyes lifted back to his, a subtle kind of wonder peeking through another emotion he couldn't quite place.
"You're stunning," he whispered, fingers now delicately tracing his collarbone. And Draco would've quirked an eyebrow, as little sense as his words made, if not for the sincerity shining in his eyes.
Shit.
He swallowed and glanced down at his wrecked skin. It'd been longer than he'd care to admit since he last glimpsed his scars, and it was with a wry smile that he laid his head back on Harry's pillow.
"If you say so."
Hesitantly, that brown head of hair lowered itself to his chest, and he curled an arm around Harry, letting him gently trace the many little marrings in his skin. And despite the insecurity that came with being seen like this, it was as peaceful as he thought he'd ever been. They were both quickly asleep in each others' arms.
For the second time in years, Harry slept without Dreamless Sleep and… Not a single nightmare. When he awoke, he felt more rested than he could ever remember being. And just as he was wondering why, he felt a softly breathing back against his.
He tensed as he remembered the previous night, but with painstaking care, he twisted beneath his sheets to see the sleeping blond beside him. And his eyes went wide as his broad back was exposed to his stare.
Bloody hell, his back was somehow worse than his front. Nearly every inch of skin was covered in scars – scars he recognized only too easily. Nauseating hatred for Lucius threatened to flip Harry's stomach, but he swallowed it back, instead risking a reach towards that textured skin. I never knew.
As his fingers graced the rippled flesh of Draco's back, he pulled his lower lip between his teeth. The internal picture he'd painted of the model had slowly had its blank spots and edges filled in as he'd witnessed the truth of him, and in his own mind, he took a step back from the painting. And Draco's comparison he'd made with himself and that art on his wall made a little more sense.
He was beautiful. Aesthetically enthralling, yes, but also heart-stoppingly gorgeous for his scars. Harry felt a divine sort of pull to worship him, this survivor of all manner of things no one should ever survive, to kiss every inch of him, to kneel at his feet and–
Draco stirred under Harry's feather-light touch, and he withdrew it suddenly. Held completely still, fretting he'd woken him and hoping he'd go back to sleep, but before he could even decide where to go from there, the blond had twisted onto his back and was blinking blearily up at him, hair askew atop his head.
"Scarhead?"
Harry's lips twitched a grin. Such a very Draco way of addressing him.
"Morning," he whispered as the blond scrubbed at his eyes. "Sleep alright?"
Draco hummed, twisting onto his other side to pull Harry into him. He froze slightly as the mess of blond nestled itself into his chest, but only carefully lowered himself back to the bed and wrapped an arm of his own around the other.
What a strange fucking twist of fate, he mused as he cuddled with Draco Malfoy. Twice in twelve hours. Of course, this wasn't as strange as their current arrangement as casual sex partners. That, he would've hexed you for if you'd told him years ago.
A wince had him stiffening in Draco's grasp as he recalled how he'd wept in his arms last night. The mortifying trembling that'd stolen into his limbs after they'd fucked. How pitiful, to cry after sex. Harry couldn't stop cringing at the memory, and Draco must've sensed it, because he sighed into his chest.
"Relax, nervous Nancy," he groaned, arms tightening around him. Harry huffed a wry laugh, trying to ease into the embrace, which wasn't altogether too difficult. All that skin pressed against his was doing wonders for his nerves.
Maybe that's why he'd cried. Because for the first time in years, he'd finally felt like he could relax. Albeit in Malfoy's arms, he found himself caring less and less what their relationship should've been, by all rights. They mightn't have still hated each other, but for him to crave his touch like he'd die without it?
"Sorry," he breathed as his muscles once again eased around him. "Thanks for coming over."
Draco grunted, clearly still on the edge of sleep, and Harry couldn't help but smile. He'd have happily stayed like that all day if he didn't have responsibilities. So when the blond was breathing deeply enough that he was sure he'd fallen back asleep, he gently pried himself from his arms and snuck to the bathroom to shower.
When he finally emerged, Draco was right where he'd left him.
