A/N: Ok, well this chapter is a bit more dramatic than some of the others. Also includes mentions of child abuse, self harm and torture - though not in great detail.

I really enjoyed writing this chapter - let me know what you think!

Chapter Ten

Draco knew it would probably be most sensible to stay upstairs during the surprise party and avoid the Weasleys altogether, but he soon got bored. He'd grown more confident recently, beginning to treat Harry's house like a home, and was used to being able to spend much of his day downstairs. There was so little to do up here in his room.

And anyway, why should he be scared off by the Weasleys? He lived here, and clearly Harry was at least partially on his side, even if he didn't yet understand why.

However, he did decide to avoid the kitchen and living room, which Harry's friends were dominating completely, choosing instead to sit in the small drawing room that was rarely used. He picked out a book from the little bookshelf in the corner and tried to read, though he was finding it hard to concentrate. Ginny Weasley's words kept niggling at his brain: He's given you a second chance, Malfoy … you should make the most of it.

But how was he supposed to make the most of it? He was stuck here in this stupid house, without a wand or any of his old friends or even the right to go for a walk down the street. And even once he got out, nobody else would give him a second chance. He doubted he'd be able to get a job anywhere, Harry Potter on his side or not. And nobody would ever completely trust him. Ginny Weasley was a perfect example of that.

At that moment, he heard the sound of the front door opening, and the Weasleys in the next room went completely silent.

"Kreacher!" Harry called, "I'm home." Draco listened to him hang up his coat and make his way down the hall to the kitchen. "Kreacher, are you–?"

"SURPRISE!" He was cut off by a simultaneous yell from his friends, which descended into the sound of cheerful chatter and laughter. Draco couldn't help but feel a little jealous. Nobody had ever thrown him a spontaneous, surprise party. Nobody had ever cared enough to.

Ignoring the noise from the next room, Draco immersed himself in his book. This time it actually worked, and he completely lost track of time.

"Draco?" He glanced up to see that Harry was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorway with the easy confidence of someone who was loved by everyone he came into contact with.

"What?" Draco replied, somewhat more abruptly than he'd intended to. He wasn't really sure how he felt towards this man who he had once despised, who had saved him countless times, who he now realised he was just ridiculously jealous of. He couldn't decide whether to hate him or be grateful to him. It was confusing, and Draco didn't like being confused.

"Well I just wanted to let you know that we're not really having a proper meal this evening. There's lots of food through in the kitchen, but if you'd like then I can ask Kreacher to bring something through here for you."

As if he needed Harry to do another favour for him.

"It's fine," he said shortly, "I'll come through."

"Cool," he headed back through to the kitchen and Draco followed him, feeling like a little kid who had to be given permission to eat.

When they stepped into the kitchen, the chatter died down a little and Draco became aware that he was receiving a lot of hostile looks.

"I really pity you, Dud," George said loudly to Dudley, who was sitting in the centre of the group of Weasleys, "Living with this loser must be pretty awful."

"Who, Harry?" Dudley said lightly, "Well I know he's a bit of an idiot, but you really shouldn't talk about him like that." Harry laughed and swatted Dudley's shoulder. George, uncharacteristically, didn't laugh.

"I'm serious," he said, "You shouldn't have to live with someone like Malfoy. You're always welcome to come and stay with us if you like."

Draco flinched away from George's harsh tone and lowered his eyes to the ground, waiting for Dudley to agree with George. After all, Dudley had just made friends with the Weasleys, one of the most popular families in the Wizarding World right now. Why would he jeopardise that just for Draco's sake?

"I like living with Harry and Draco," Dudley said, "Draco's been a good friend to me over the last few months." His tone was light, but there was a hard note to it that indicated he fully intended to defend his friend. Draco's eyes flew up in astonishment, and he met Dudley's gaze. Dudley gave him a small, supportive smile.

George snorted derisively.

"I don't know what lies he's been feeding you," he drawled, "But don't trust a word that comes out of Malfoy's mouth. Maybe he's given you some rubbish about how hard the War was from him, but you know what, we all got hurt during the War. We've all got scars. Harry's got 'I must not tell lies' written on the back of his hand, from when he stood up for the truth, in spite of the consequences. Hermione's got the word 'Mudblood' carved into her arm, a little reminder of the torture she endured at the hands of Malfoy's aunt. And yet she didn't give in to that torture. And I'm missing an ear, from when I helped protect Harry because he was our only hope of ever escaping the living hell we were threatened with."

George's voice was bitter, and Draco couldn't blame him. He'd lost so much during the War. But Draco was suddenly very aware of how vulnerable he was without a wand, and was suddenly very terrified of what George might say next.

"And Malfoy's got a scar, too," George continued, "Did he tell you that, Dudley? That he's got a scar that shows exactly how he reacted when faced with the choice of standing up for what was right or simply saving his own skin."

He crossed the room, seized Draco's arm and shoved the sleeve up to reveal the Dark Mark, then stepped back, triumphant, saying quietly, "Do you still think he's a good person to have as a friend, Dudley?"

Draco didn't dare look at Dudley. His friend might not have recognised the name Malfoy thanks to being a muggle, but there was no way he wouldn't know what this mark meant.

Something inside Draco snapped. He could live with the Weasleys hating him. Merlin knew he deserved it. But he had to explain himself to Dudley, who had trusted him with so much. Not make excuses, or justify what he'd done, or even expect Dudley still to be friends with him, but explain.

"Very well," he said softly, "Think of me what you will. I deserve it. But if you're going to judge me by my scars then judge me by all of my scars. Perhaps it won't change your opinion of me, and perhaps you'll still think I'm pathetic and worthless. I wouldn't blame you if you did. But you should see them all." He reached up and pushed his hair off his forehead, revealing small, very faint scar.

"Do you see that? It's faint now because I got it when I was seven. Father had gone into one of his long rants about muggles and muggleborns, and in the way children do, I was asking lots of questions. I wanted to know why they were inferior, and what really made them different from us. Father was getting very frustrated with me, and then – echoing something I had heard someone else say – I asked whether maybe Father was wrong and just thought muggles were inferior because he didn't understand them. He slapped me so hard that I fell and cut my head on the edge of a table. The wound was a deep one that never entirely healed over. That was the day I learned that Father was never wrong."

He glanced up at his listeners, who were all silent. They all had different expressions, but he didn't try to interpret them. He didn't want to. He'd rather not know what they were thinking.

He pushed up the sleeve of the arm without the Dark Mark and held it, palm upwards, to reveal a thin white line on his wrist.

"This scar's from sixth year. I can't blame anyone else for this one, because I made it myself. I'd never really considered self harm before that, but I'd heard that it supposedly helped numb the pain inside. I cut too deep, though. Blood was absolutely gushing out of it. For a few minutes I though I was going to bleed to death. For a few minutes I considered whether maybe I wanted to, whether maybe I should just let it happen. I couldn't in the end, though. Perhaps it's a Slytherin thing. Perhaps it's just human nature in general. No matter how awful life was, no matter how much I hated myself, my instinct for self-preservation was stronger than my desire to die. So I healed the cut, but I left the scar. I'm not sure why. Maybe to remind myself that I still wanted to live. Or maybe just to remind myself that I had a way out, if things got too bad."

Ginny had tears in her eyes now. Ron, Charlie and Percy looked shocked, like they weren't sure how to react. Harry looked deep in thought. George's face was unreadable. Draco didn't look at Dudley.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Reliving these memories was hard. It was bad enough that he had to live with the scars, had to see them every day and be reminded of how utterly worthless he was. Having to explain them, to see the looks on the faces of the others confirming how he felt about himself was almost unbearable. It had to be done, though, and he couldn't deny that some part of him needed to share the memories he'd kept locked up inside himself for so long. But that didn't change the fact that this last one was going to be the worst.

Taking another deep breath, he pulled his shirt up over his head. He could feel them all scrutinising his chest for scars, but there weren't any there.

Very slowly, he turned around. He heard them all gasp and winced a little, knowing what they were seeing. He let the silence go on for a few seconds, collecting his thoughts, and then began to speak again.

"Those scars are from the very end of sixth year," he said, "Just after Snape killed Dumbledore. The Dark Lord looked into my mind to find out what had happened. He saw that I couldn't bring myself to do it. He saw that if the Death Eaters hadn't arrived I'd probably have accepted Dumbledore's offer to protect me and my family. He saw that I wasn't a killer, and that my loyalty to him was just about non-existent.

"He didn't kill me, as he had threatened to. Perhaps he was in a good mood due to Dumbledore's death and not inclined to kill. More likely he just thought my parents were more likely to remain loyal to him with the threat of my death hanging over them than if he actually killed me.

"That didn't mean I wasn't punished, however. I think he wanted to make me an example to everyone of what happened to those whose loyalty wavered. The Cruciatus Curse wasn't enough for that. He used it too commonly. It wasn't dramatic enough. Instead he used a curse I believe he had invented himself. All he did was wave his wand, but it felt like whip lashes on my back. Like that barbaric punishment muggles once used to inflict on one another.

"This time I truly believed I was going to die, and I didn't care. The pain was too much. I wanted to die, just to escape it. I was vaguely aware of my mother screaming and begging him to stop, and of my Aunt Bella laughing. Other than that it was just pain."

He fell silent. Putting his shirt back on to hide the scars that criss-crossed his back, and that still twinged sometimes, he remained facing away from them. He couldn't bear to turn around, to see their faces. Not yet.

"So you're right," he said quietly, his back to them, "You're right when you say that I never gained any scars standing up for what was right, or fighting for what I believed in. Every mark on my body simply confirms that I am a pathetic coward who never fought for anything in his life. But if you're going to judge me, judge me on all of them. Don't just judge me on the Dark Mark I accepted because I believed it was the only way to save my parents."

Now he turned back round to see the impact of his words. Ginny had tears pouring down her face, and for some reason this touched him deeply. Ginny Weasley didn't cry. He'd seen her stand up to the Carrows and endure punishment after punishment without ever shedding a tear. And yet she was crying for him.

Most of the expressions were of pity, which wasn't the point. He didn't want their pity. He just wanted them to know the truth.

"I'm sorry," George said, and as Draco turned to meet the redhead's gaze, it wasn't an expression of pity he saw there, "I shouldn't have said … what I did. I judge too quickly sometimes."

Draco could see that it was hard for him, apologising to an old enemy. Gryffindors were probably even worse than Slytherins at swallowing their pride and apologising, and when George stuck out a hand, Draco blinked a couple of times to try and figure out if this was actually happening.

"Forgive me?" George asked. Hesitantly, Draco took the hand and shook it, still trying to decipher the expression in George's eyes.

Harry stepped forwards. He pointed at a small mark on Draco's collarbone.

"And where's that one from?" he asked. Draco didn't answer. He had a feeling Harry already knew.

"Neville told me," Harry continued, confirming Draco's belief, "He said that the Carrows were annoyed with a Gryffindor first year girl on time, and that one of them shot some sort of curse at her. He said the curse caught you on the shoulder. It put you in the hospital wing for a week. If it had hit her full in the chest it would probably have killed her. Not only that, but the girl was a blood traitor and part of the DA, and Neville reckons you probably got pretty severely punished for protecting her. She survived, though. The Carrows were too worried about the fact that they might just have killed a Death Eater to remember her, and she survived the rest of the year and got out safe before the Battle of Hogwarts. She's now able to go and live out the rest of her life, because of you. That's what that scar means."

Draco didn't say anything. The story was true, but it didn't sound entirely so. The way Harry told it, it sounded all noble and heroic, and that didn't match up with what he remembered. He had just acted instinctively. And he hadn't regretted it afterwards, but he hadn't felt proud and brave afterwards. It had just been … something he'd done.

He looked around the faces again, and suddenly realised what the expression in George's eyes had been, now that he saw it reflected on the faces of the others. Respect. It was something few people had felt towards him before, and he didn't really feel he deserved it now. Not from these people, who had sacrificed so much. He dropped his gaze, ashamed.

Suddenly they all began to talk at once, but he wasn't really sure what they were all saying. It was just a blur of sound, and he was grateful when Harry ushered them all out of the room, saying they should continue the party through in the living room. He was sure they were all talking about him through there, but somehow he couldn't really bring himself to care. He'd just shared some of the darkest experiences of his life with some of the last people he'd ever have expected, and he wasn't really sure how he felt about that.

Looking up, he realised that not everyone had left, and for the first time since starting his story he reluctantly met Dudley's eyes. He wasn't sure what he expected to see there. Disgust? Pity? Respect, like the others?

It was none of those things. Instead, he saw a kind of understanding, an empathetic expression that told him he could share absolutely anything and Dudley would never judge him for it.

"I had no idea," Dudley said, "I mean, I knew you were a Death Eater, and that you'd been forced into it. And I knew you'd had some pretty awful experiences during the War, ones that you still have nightmares about. But I had no idea you were keeping so much locked up inside you. I'm so glad you finally shared it, though you could perhaps have chosen a less dramatic time to do so."

But Draco was still taking in Dudley's first sentence.

"You … you knew I was a Death Eater?" he stammered, "How did you know?"

"It was kind of obvious, when I really thought about it. Clearly you and Harry aren't exactly best friends, combined with the fact that you don't have your wand made it pretty clear you weren't here by choice. And when you've been having nightmares, the things you said indicated you'd been working for the person who'd hurt you so much, not fighting against them. And a bunch of other things that happened just kind of confirmed it."

"Oh." Draco dropped his eyes again, waiting for Dudley to say, probably very nicely and politely, that he didn't really feel they could be friends anymore. There was a long silence. He looked up again, and Dudley was watching him with a very strange expression.

"Please stop pushing me away, Draco," he said softly, "It's okay to let people in."

And with that he turned and left the room.