WHEEEEEE! I wrote this chapter really fast, so please forgive any spelling errors you might come across.

Disclaimer: Don't believe, don't own, don't wish to be sued. Orz

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--- NO FLAMES PLEASE!

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Harry stood in front of the one place he thought never to see again; the manor that he and Draco once shared, the place where he and Draco were happy and in love together more then a year ago.

He'd left the blond to go for the final battle; a battle that no one but he and Lord Voldemort knew about. It was a private battle that none heard of. All thought the Boy-Who-Lived missing, whilst some even thought of him murdered.

Harry never told Draco, let alone the members of the Order, or Ron and Hermione about where he'd be going. He only told Draco that he couldn't love him anymore and that their love was merely a mirage and that he needed to go.

Deep in his heart, Harry wished for Draco not to believe that, and that Draco still loved and missed him as much as he did.

After weeks and weeks, which soon turned into months, which turned a year, Harry returned, although no one knew. He'd only returned now, his clothes still scratched, torn and bloody, as well as himself. Nearly all visible skin was red with dried blood, or was bruised or torn apart. Even his hair lay limp on his head, matted with blood and debris.

Wand still in his bloody hand, a small, hopeful smile was on his cracked and dry lips as he lifted his other hand, pressing on the doorbell.

His heart was pounding hard in his ribcage, making it even harder for him to breathe. His heart raced even more as he heard the sound of weary footsteps coming closer and closer to the door.

The door opened, but he found himself face to face with none other than Hermione Granger.

"H-hey 'Mione," Harry greeted, waving his sore arm rather pathetically.

"H-Harry? Is that you?" she asked incredulously. Her face lit up, but as Harry was gonna ask to come in, her look darkened into a scowl. "Tell the truth. Are you Harry?" He nodded, confused. Why was Hermione interrogating him like this?

"Prove it." Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I can tell you exactly what Myrtle said when you turned into a cat in the second year." said Harry quietly, recalling the memory of his second year at Hogwarts. The memory that only he, Ron and Hermione knew. When Harry said these words, Hermione broke into tears. Whether they were tears of happiness or sadness, Harry didn't know.

"Oh, HARRY!" She threw herself onto him, not knowing she was causing him deep pain. She was crushing his ribs, of which two or three were already broken. He let out a pained moan, and Hermione jumped and backed off, tears falling down her now flushed cheeks.

"Oh Merlin, H-Harry. I can't believe it's you. Oh my God, we thought you were dead!" she sobbed, putting a hand to her mouth, the other one fanning herself.

Harry felt his stomach turn as guilt washed over him. He was about to open his mouth and ask about Draco, but Hermione cut him off.

"I- oh my, Well, come on in. We'd better get you washed up - ," she eyed his torn clothes, bloody skin and scratches. " - and THEN!" she said sharply, suddenly taking a strict and slightly scary tone, "You're gonna tell us ALL about what you were doing all this time." She said, jabbing him in the chest accusingly, causing Harry to emit another pained gasp.

She pulled him in the manor and closed the large black oak door behind them.

She led him up the familiar staircase up to the second floor, dropped him in the bathroom and brought him a loose black t-shirt with a pair of worn, although comfortable-looking track pants.

Giving her a small, thankful smile, Harry closed the door in between them, happy to finally be able to take a bath. He wanted to get the stench of blood off of him; the horrible marks of death upon his now tainted body.

He stripped his clothes and walked slowly to the full-length mirror beside the sink. He looked horrible.

On his chest were scars that looked like they were caused by whips. Blood stained nearly every piece of visible skin on him. His legs were bruised and cut in every corner, as were his arms.

He was thin; too thin to be considered healthy. His face was gaunt and was faint with a sickly yellowing color. He had a black eye, and his lips were dry and scratched; his bottom lip was torn in half, something he never really noticed until now.

His mane of dark hair was longer then it had been which was now brushing his pale shoulders. It was matted and tangled with dried blood.

Harry was ashamed of how he looked. What was once a handsome (although not as good-looking as Draco) man, with a slight tan, lean muscles, rippled chest, was now a beat up, skeletal-like being. Even his emerald green eyes had changed. They weren't the same eyes that were once filled with joy, love and happiness. They no longer shone with the same admiration whenever he looked at something. They were hollow; hollow, and void of emotion. They reminded him of his eyes, and it disgusted him.

He tore his gaze off the mirror, and turned his head to look at the tub. A grim smile on his face, he turned on the tap, steam already rising in the air from the hot water that was now starting to fill the tub.

After a few minutes, he'd turned it off. The tub was already nearly filled to the rim.

He got in slowly and carefully, as not to accidentally burn himself with the steaming hot water. The water stung some of his cuts, but felt good all the same.

He allowed himself to sink in, and to forget everything around him. His tense and exhausted muscles were crying out in happiness as the warm water soothed them. Harry leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

Thoughts of him and Draco taking a bath together filled his brain. A sudden wave of guilt then filled him completely. He hated himself for all the pain he knew he caused his love.

He and Draco were happy together; so happy that Harry thought he was in heaven and didn't understand how he was blessed with such a beautiful angel.

Harry recalled all of the times he held Draco's smaller frame in his arms, pressing kisses over his body; showering him with love and passion. He could even faintly remember the feeling of Draco's soft, plump, ghostly pink lips over his. The taste of strawberries and the smell of roses coming back to him.

He remembered all of the times Draco had cried in Harry's comforting, strong arms. Harry missed rocking him to sleep, to make him feel better, and smile.

Draco's smile. Harry missed seeing it. He loved seeing Draco smile, knowing he was the reason he did so. He loved the way his pink lips twitched upwards, forming a beautiful, perfect angelic smile.

Tears started making their way down his cheeks. Harry regretted leaving him. Draco didn't even know the real reason he left. Harry was disgusted with himself. Sick of how he, the one person Draco loved the most, hurt him. It hurt so much. It was tearing him apart.

Ripping himself from his thoughts, Harry opened his eyes and reached for the bar of soap. He knew he needed it.

He rubbed the bar in his hands, making bubbles. He then ran his bubbly hand over his body, washing all of the dirt and blood away.

Some marks didn't feel like they were ready to go yet. Harry began to rub the soap vigorously against his skin, if not furiously, over a few blood marks which didn't want to fade. He rubbed on it so hard that his skin was starting to turn red. He kept on going, a few sobs coming from his mouth.

Harry kept on rubbing at his now very red skin, not knowing that the blood was already off. With a pained moan, he dropped the bar of soap into the tub, sinking all the way down.

The raven-haired man leaned his head against the wall once more. He was tainted. On his body was the blood of both innocent and guilty people. People that either he or Tom killed. It made his stomach churn.

Although the marks of blood were no longer visible, he knew they would never truly disappear; haunting him forever. No longer was he the 'Golden Boy' of Dumbledore's. No longer the pure boy he used to be. He spilled blood. Blood of many; both innocent and not.

Harry remembered the hoarse, ragged voices of them begging. Begging for him not to kill them. He remembered the bittersweet sound that was once music to his ears; the sound of Bellatrix Lestrange at his feet, begging not to be murdered.

Harry couldn't even remember how he had so easily, without batting an eyelash, killed her. Even though she was the reason Sirius died, he's murdered her while she was wandless and injured. An unfair match.

The inevitable sobs found their way out his throat. Harry was soon crying. He didn't even know why he was crying.

He took his face in his wet hands, trying to mute the ragged sobs. But did so in vain.

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..Meh, I don't really like the bath scene. Orz. It seems retarded. anywayz, PLEASE REVIEW!