Draco stood in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror, eyes red rimmed as they flicked down to his exposed mark. Healing scars covered most of it but it was still recognizable and the ink had hardly faded at all. Absentmindedly his other hand came up to scratch at it.
Harry had been nothing but wonderful honestly. He'd shown up to Draco's hearing and torn the Wizengamot a new one, going up one side of their argument and down the other. Several people that were still trying to get Draco locked up had ended up in tears. Draco had gone free that day, and at Harry's insistence, home with him.
Harry had taken over Number 12 Grimmauld place as his own and spent most of his time when he was homw clearing out the place. They didn't talk much, well Harry talked a lot, Draco was mostly silent except to answer questions or just politely acknowledge what he was saying.
Draco had assumed it was just a momentary act of that heroism that seemed ever present in Harry that made him vouch for him and take Draco home but as days passed and Harry's gentle concern and care continued he allowed himself to wonder if maybe Harry could forgive him for everything he'd done. But he also let himself relax and he'd become sloppy.
Harry had found him in the bathroom, desperately trying to clean blood from the sink as poorly wrapped bandages stemmed the flow from his arm. Nothing much was said that night, he'd just cast a few healing spells and rewrapped the bandages before giving Draco a hug. He'd fallen apart on his shoulder then, sobbing and apologizing over and over again, only halfway coherent.
Quietly reassuring him that he was forgiven already and he had nothing to apologize for Harry had carried him to bed and when Draco hadn't let go Harry had just joined him until he fell asleep. That'd broken some sort of unspoken and unseen barrier between the two and everything that had happened between them and during the war had come out. Harry, for his credit was an amazing listener and gave Draco his full attention whenever he started talking but Draco soon learned he'd also been through hell those months on the run.
They became practically glued to each other's side during those months, oftentimes falling asleep together after particularly long or hard days. When Harry said he was going back to Hogwarts for the 8th year Draco said he'd follow.
It was three days before they were supposed to leave and the stress was killing Draco. Harry forgave him and he'd heard that Hermionie had sided with Harry after the trial but he'd heard nothing from anyone else at school and the Daily Prophet, which Harry had tried his best to get Draco to stop reading, ran slander articles, often mentioning him in particular, almost every day.
Snapping out of his almost daze he realized that he'd been scratching his arm hard enough to make blood drip down to his wrist. Biting his lip he ran his arm under water to wash away the blood, ignoring the slight sting it caused. Then there was a knock on the bathroom door and he flinched.
“Hey Draco, you've been in there a long time, is everything alright?” Cursing under his breath at the scratches that refused to stop bleeding he turned the water off and pulled down his sleeve, hoping the black fabric would hide any blood that seeped through.
“Yeah I'm okay.” Opening the door he came face to face with a very concerned looking Harry.
“Are you sure?” Nodding he pushed past Harry who was frowning at him, seemingly unconvinced. Draco tried to say that he was sure or that he was fine but it wouldn't come out. He couldn't lie to Harry when he was looking at him with that expression of such care and concern. There was just silence for several moments before he shook his head ever so slightly. Harry pursed his lips.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” He shook his head again. “Are you hurt?” Hesitating for a moment before he nodded, Draco looked to the ground. “Can you show me?” He tugged up his sleeve to show Harry the new and reopened wounds. Ever so gently Harry took his wrist and examined his injuries. “What'd you do these with?” Draco hesitated.
“My nails.” He examined them closer.
“These look really bad for just your nails. Were you scratching really hard?” Shrugging slightly Draco wouldn't meet his eyes.
“Dunno.” Raising his eyebrows Harry gave him a look.
“How do you not know?” Embarrassment flushed across Draco's pale cheeks.
“I wasn't paying attention, just thinking. Didn't mean to do it.” Harry pursed his lips but seemed to be done with his questioning and pulled out his wand, quickly casting a healing spell on the wounds.
It was a simple spell, Draco could probably learn it, or even just replicate it from memory, but for some reason he had no desire to do so. A part of him enjoyed knowing that the disgusting tattoo was covered, even if it was by his own blood, maybe especially since it was by his own blood.
“Draco…” Harry hesitated. “I'm worried about you. This isn't healthy.” Sudden anger flared up in him.
“Well you try having a fucking tattoo on you that stands for everything that's wrong with the world! Try knowing every day that because of some ink on your arm everyone will hate you forever! Try that and then you can talk about me being ‘unhealthy’.” Harry studied him silently for long enough to make Draco almost uncomfortable enough to apologize before he replied very softly.
“I don't hate you.” Draco was silent and he continued. “Neither does Hermionie, and Ron complains but he doesn't hate you either. I don't think I've met a single person after the war that really hates you.”
“But-”
“No buts.”
“The Prophet-”
“Is written by the same fools that thought me and Hermionie were a thing for years and that I was insane after Voldemort came back.” Draco visibly flinched at the name but Harry just continued. “I can't make you believe me, I wish I could because you don't deserve to feel like this.” There was silence for a moment.
“I'm sorry for yelling at you.”
“Apology accepted.”