Dear Friends, I hope that this chapter will make up for the shorter one that preceded it. It is the plot development many of you have been waiting for, and I cannot wait to hear what you think.

Cheers, and thanks, as always.

Merick

Chapter Eighteen

Pain is something that you never really forget, as much as you convince yourself that you have. Okay, maybe that's too general a statement. Hermione told me once; and I may be giving things away here, please forgive me, that giving birth to her first child had been difficult, and painful, but that every thought of it disappeared the moment they put her child in her arms. I tend to believe her; pain that has a good end can quickly be forgotten in the joy it brings. But other pain, pain inflicted for evil purposes, to hurt, to main, to demoralize and crush, I don't think that pain ever goes away. I don't think Hermione ever really forgot the pain of the crutiatus curse, just as I can still feel the pain from the tortures inflicted on me. And the pain of loss, I don't think that ever really goes away either, it just kind of dulls till the ache is a part of your everyday existence, and you go on. I saw the pain written across Draco's back, and the pain in his eyes as he realized I had seen him, just before he slammed the door in my face with a terrible scream of 'Get Away!'.

Let me explain. His back was a lacey patchwork of white, pink and red welts, scarred lines that crisscrossed the normally pale surface in every which way. The white ones were the oldest I guessed, the red, the newest; still angry looking, still betraying the rage of the person who had inflicted them on him. And there was only one person with that kind of rage that I could think of; Voldemort.

"Draco? My God?" I started to say, and that was when he slammed the door at me, and I heard his own rage betray itself in a horrible cry, which weakened to audible sobbing.

"Oh God." I said to no one in particular, frozen to the spot for a moment, unable to get past the vision of his wounds. He'd need a new shirt, that was one thing my mind could process as it sought to find some kind of meaning in what I had seen. I ignored the obvious for that moment and ran into the bedroom throwing open the wardrobe, not caring if it was hexed or not. At least Severus had remained true to form there, hanging from the rod were at least a dozen properly pressed black shirts. I yanked one down, sent the hanger flying goodness knew where, and hurried back to the bathroom. It was quiet once again, and I chanced to knock at the door.

"Draco?" I figured on what kind of answer I was going to get.

"Go away Harry." It was about what I had expected, sounding as miserable and downcast as I had ever heard his voice.

"I brought you a new shirt." I offered hopefully, holding it in front of me, not that he could see it.

The door opened just a bit and I pushed the shirt towards it. Trembling fingers took it up and made my heart just ache for him. He left the door slightly ajar as he dressed, I didn't dare push it in any further, figuring he'd come out when he was ready. In fact, I backed up, retreating to the desk area again so it wouldn't be overwhelming for him; me being right in his face and all. I watched the door open all the way, cautiously.

"I'm still here." I sort of whispered, in case he didn't see me right away.

He looked terrible when he came out; let me qualify that. He looked fine dress-wise, the shirt fit him well, and the black suited him. He had managed to wash all the goop off his face and out of his hair, so he was clean, if not a little soggy and tousled from finger combing his blond hair. He had let it fall over his eyes again, but even that didn't help conceal their red rims, and the tear-stained cheeks. I felt like absolute shit for having been made party to his secret in that way, and even worse, if that was possible when he looked at me, because the haunted liquid of his gaze betrayed all the pain, brought back fresh.

"I'm so sorry Draco."

He smiled at me weakly, what else was there to say?

"What happened?"

"The dark lord did not care for failure. Apparently I failed a great many things in his eyes." He was trying so hard to hold it together; I could hear the strain in his voice.

"Come and sit down." I motioned for one of the two chairs around Snape's desk, the one on the far side, away from the drawer he had opened. He moved towards it slowly, and hesitantly sat. He made to object when I reached into the drawer, but having lifted out the decanter I could see him relax just a little.

"That's what he was guarding? A bloody bottle of port?" Apparently Draco could tell his liquors better than I. I brought forth the glasses next. "It better be bleeding expensive."

"I think he owes the both of us at least one drink."

"Probably more." Draco muttered. I pored out tumblers for us both.

Draco took his in a not so delicate grip, sniffed it roughly and shot it back. He put the glass back down on the table.

"Not bad." I refilled his glass before even touching my own; he needed it more than I did. Only when he had a second glass in hand did I take a sip. It was really good, rich and smooth, like syrup that made your toes tingle. Okay, I admit, I wasn't much of a drinker. Butterbeer didn't really count, and firewhisky, well, that was more of a dare than a drink. I watched Draco shoot back his second glass, perhaps a little bit more slowly, but not by much. He filled his own glass for a third time.

"Do you think that you should let Madam Pomfrey have a look at your back? Maybe she can help?"

"You don't think I tried every healing spell I could think of Harry?" His response wasn't sharp, more resigned. "I don't want anyone else to know, please, promise me you won't tell anyone."

"Of course Draco."

"They'll fade, eventually I imagine. He meant them to last."

"Coward."

"Why do you say that?" His voice became that small, closed up one again, the one that I was starting to hate because now I better appreciated what had created it, and how he had been broken.

"A powerful wizard like that, taking things out on a teenager. It makes him a coward. It's easy to attack someone weaker than you."

"You faced him."

"I had an advantage, I had part of him inside me. And I had the magic of so many people who had faced him before me." I referred to Dumbledore, and Severus, my parents, and Cedric, even Sirius. "I had their strength, and important knowledge. I wasn't really facing him alone."

"I wish I had had your strength."

"It wasn't about that Draco." I reached out a hand, I don't know why, and placed it over one of his, the one that wasn't clutching the port like a lifeline. I held it for a moment as I spoke. "I didn't have anything else to lose Draco. He'd taken my parents, my godfather, my peace of mind; the only thing I had left was my life. He had your home, your mother, all hostage."

He sniffled a bit, I didn't meet his eyes, I gave him that dignity, and then he started talking.

Now let me just add that I know I just wrote that Draco asked me not to tell anyone about the scars, and you may think that me writing about them, and how he got them is breaking that promise. But let me assure you, when I told him that I wanted to record all this he gave me his blessing. So don't feel bad about reading what follows.

The first beating came when Draco returned home after the debacle at the Ministry, when Lucius had allowed, according to Voldemort, the prophecy to be destroyed. His father in Azkaban, Voldemort took out his anger on the son.

"I thought, when he summoned me, that he was going to kill me. The look in his eyes was beyond rage, it was white hot, and so was the lash from his wand. I screamed, I couldn't help it; the pain was beyond belief Harry. He fed on it. When I failed to kill Dumbledore on his orders, the punishment was just as savage, and his glee in hearing me scream was psychotic. When I tried to keep quiet it only made him more brutal. When he took over our house he punished me for any perceived transgression, and used it to keep my parents in line." His voice wavered, there was a tiny sob, and again I kept my eyes down, my hand over his. "I hated them for not helping me Harry."

"I'm so sorry Draco."

He continued. "I wanted him to just kill me. When the beatings weren't enough to make me scream, he found other ways." I felt him tremble under my hand, whatever those other ways were; their scars went a great deal deeper than the ones on his back. He finished off his third glass, and I noticed that the alcohol was beginning to affect him. His words were becoming more languid, and his movements more slow and exaggerated.

"I didn't want to kill Dumbledore Harry."

"I know Draco, but if it gives you any peace, he was already dead before you even tried to kill him."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Dumbledore was already dead, dying because of a curse. He had a year at most. But he knew about the plot, and asked Severus to deliver the final blow, to save your soul."

"How do you know this?"

"Severus told me, well, showed me, with the legilimency. Before he died, he gave me all that knowledge." I had another long drink of my port, wanting its warmth and courage just then.

"What else did he tell you?"

I didn't know what else I should say; I didn't want to make his pain any worse. I thought of the only good thing I could on the spot, and after I had said it I wondered at the choice. "Your mother and aunt asked Severus to protect you, even at the cost of his own life, and he agreed."

"That's why Voldemort couldn't kill me." I wasn't quite following. "He must have suspected an unbreakable vow of some kind, knowing that if he killed me that he might have others close to him turn on him, beyond just my parents." The way he spoke was almost dreamy, an eerie, resigned sort of tone like he was looking back on his own life as if it was someone else's. It worried me. He tried to stand up, and ended up wobbling so badly he had to grab hold of the desk to steady himself. I darted around to his side to help him.

It was obvious he was in no shape to go down to the Great hall for dinner, which would be starting soon, and I certainly couldn't walk him back through the hallways like that; not without getting us both into a great deal of trouble. The only option seemed to be to let him sleep it off, so with an arm under his shoulders, and his around my neck I walked him over to the bedroom and helped him to first sit, and then lay back onto Severus' bed. Feeling a little wobbly myself I sat down beside him, and eventually lay down as well. He turned to face me.

"We have so much in common Harry. I don't know why we didn't see it before."

I let him talk, not sure how much of it was rambling because of the Port, and how much was pent up truth that now finally had the courage, and a vehicle to show itself.

"We've both been used." I couldn't disagree with him there. "Made to do things because we were told it was our destiny, our birthrights, nothing we could even walk away from."

"We've both lost our families because of it. I lost my father when he pleaded guilty to the charges against him, and was sentenced to Azkaban for ten years. I don't even know what will be left of him when he comes out."

"But you still have your mother Draco."

His miserable little smile was back, and I knew I'd said the wrong thing for sure that time as his eyes began to mist, obscuring the beautiful blue with clouds.

"She left, a few weeks before school started."

"What?" I hadn't known that, I don't think anyone had.

"She couldn't stand the way people looked at her, and grew silent as she approached; or worse, chose not to hide their hatred. She felt trapped in the house, scared to go out for anything for fear of that disdain. And the house, every turn reminded her of Voldemort's presence, and my father's. As did I. She couldn't even say goodbye to me Harry. Left me a note, asking that I not follow her."

"Where did she go?"

"I think she had cousins in Germany, that's my best guess, because she just walked away from everything here."

"You're all alone?"

"Just like you Harry. Alone, with a big, empty house that just has memories around every corner. That's part of the reason I came back here, I had to get away from it, from them. All I really have now is you." He laughed just a little, not in jest but in self-pity.

"You and I." He reached out a hand to touch my forehead, and he brushed away the bangs. "Two people scarred by Voldemort."

The water in his eyes made them absolutely sparkle, and I looked into his face more carefully than I ever had before. His skin was pale, made even more so by the blond hair that framed it. It made his mouth stand out red, quivering just slightly as it was then. His hand had remained on my face, and I felt the smooth warmth of his fingertips; in sharp contrast to the sting I so often remembered from my scar. As I continued to watch him, his hand slid down the side of my face slowly, around behind my neck, and he pulled me closer to him.

I might have realized what was happening; I must have, but I did nothing to stop him as he pushed his mouth softly against mine and took a breath from my lips. It was only a second before I felt him slip away, and when I opened my eyes to him I saw that he had fallen into sleep. His chest was moving regularly, his head sunken into the pillow; hands now slack at his side. I rolled onto my back with only one thought obscuring everything else at that point.

'Oh my God, Draco Malfoy just kissed me.'