Aufero
Title: Aufero
Author: vfic83
Rating: PG
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: HP/DM
Length: 1,173 words
Disclaimer: I am (unfortunately) not J.K. Rowling, therefore Harry Potter and Co. are not mine. I’m just playing with them for a bit.
Spoilers: Post HBP
Summary: Draco learns that everyone heals in their own way.
Warnings: Post war, A little fluff and PWP, also a teeny bit of violence, sorta. Mentions of minor character deaths. Very corny ending.
A/N: First- I’m American, so I’m going to apologize ahead of time for any "Americanisms" that made their way into this fic, or if any of the British slang is wrong or out of place. This is the first piece of fanfiction I’ve ever actually finished, so keep that in mind. No beta, all mistakes are mine.
A/N Part 2: (last one, I promise) I don't know Latin. I don't claim to know Latin. I couldn't find a Latin word that meant "to remove" in the way that I needed it to- so I took the next best word. According to my information, "aufero" means "to take away by force". Not what I wanted originally, but better than the alternatives the dictionary gave me and I think I made it work fairly well anyway. So... don't yell at me for improper use of Latin, okay?
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Harry adamantly refuses to spell away any of his scars, much to Draco's intense annoyance. He also won't give an explanation for this or allow anyone else to do it. So the marks and bruises that make Harry's body look like it belongs to someone twenty years his senior stay in place, and Draco is left to wonder about the ones that Harry won't talk about. Like the one on his left arm, for example. Draco knows where it came from- his father had told him all about that night in the graveyard- but what he doesn't know is how Harry feels about it now. If he ever thinks about it, or if he simply looks away whenever his gaze falls upon the old scar. There are also the scratches on his back that Draco knows are there even though Harry is lying on the bed with his stomach up, nail marks that mirror the ones on Draco's own body that he hasn't spelled away yet. On his chest is what's left of a particularly nasty Sectumsempra curse thrown at him by a Death Eater... that one on his leg is an old Quidditch injury... this one on his hand is more recent, a souvenir from a few days ago when Harry decided to try to cook Draco's favorite dish the Muggle way. Unfortunately, the most complicated thing he'd ever made without magic was bacon, and most of the dinner had ended up on the floor and Harry was burned quite badly from the pan. Draco smiles at the picture that pops into his head: Harry in a green knee length apron, empty baking pan in hand, a smudge of flour on his forehead. At least he thinks it's flour.
"Enjoying the view?" Harry asks suddenly.
"I thought you were sleeping."
"How could I sleep with you staring at me like that?" Harry smirks in a way that makes Draco's stomach flip pleasantly.
"I'm going to go take care of my back," Draco says, kissing him.
He pulls himself out of bed as he grabs his wand off of the night stand and pads softly to the bathroom. He stands with his back facing the full length mirror, which promptly shouts "Again?! He really needs to be more careful what he's digging those nails into!"
Draco says nothing, just casts a silencing spell and the mirror stops talking mid-rant.
"You know I need to put my full attention to this spell," he chides it.
The mirror, of course, says nothing, but Draco is sure that if it was human it would be pouting. Draco sighs. He's going to have to deal with a very grumpy mirror in the morning, and before he even has any tea. Oh, right. The spell. He takes a deep breath, bracing himself, and then touches his wand to the scratch on his back within easiest reach.
"Aufero," he says.
Draco groans as he feels the mark being ripped out of his skin, willing himself to remain concentrated on the spell. This never gets any easier. It's like tweezing your eyebrows the Muggle way, only about a thousand times worse... but the scratch is gone. The skin where it used to be is an angry red, but that's nothing that a charm won't fix later. He continues down his back, whispering "Aufero" as he goes, biting his bottom lip to keep himself from actually crying out in pain by the end. The whole process is a bit cathartic, actually, in a sadistic sort of way. Not all scars are this easy to get rid of. Some of them stay with you forever, and even though the pain eventually subsides, there's a scab in your soul from where you were hurt. Some of them even have names: Mother. Father. Severus. Greg. Pansy. Blaise. It's true that Aufero only removes physical scars... but whenever Draco uses it, he feels like some of his inner scars fade just a little. As if in the end he could actually pull them out one by one and forget about them once and for all. He casts a soothing spell on his back, unsilences the mirror (which now is giving him the silent treatment, go figure), and crawls back into bed. Harry is silent for a few moments, but he seems to be dying to say something and Draco knows it's only a matter of time-
"Why do you do that?"
"Do what?" Draco asks.
"Charm away all your scratches and spots."
"I do not have spots!"
"Not now, but I've seen them in the morning, before you blast them off or whatever."
"Malfoys DO NOT get spots!"
Harry holds up both hands in defeat, and Draco swears he can see him fighting to keep a smile off his face.
"Alright, alright, you don't get spots. Happy now?"
Draco smirks in response as if to say "serves you right for suggesting such a thing."
"You didn't answer my question," Harry says.
"They're ugly."
"That's it?"
"Of course. You know how important my appearance is to me."
"Yeah, but it's so painful. I always thought there was something more to it besides vanity."
"Like what?"
"Like maybe you didn't want the reminders. The war. Everything."
Draco is silent for a few moments, and his voice is quieter than he intends when he finally says "That too." He can't explain it to Harry, how the pain helps, because he's not really sure he understands it himself. He’s not even sure if he wants to.
"Why don’t you get rid of yours? Or let me do it?" he asks suddenly.
Harry says nothing for several minutes. He simply entwines their fingers together and stares at them as if they create some elaborate puzzle that he’s trying to figure out.
"There’s a lot of reasons, Draco. I’ve had my fill of Dark Magic. I’ve had to use it too many times and I’ve had it used against me too many times. I don’t want anything to do with it. I mean, it seems to be something that you think you need to do, and that’s fine, but I’m not doing it."
Draco nods, though he can’t really say that he’s surprised. He expected an answer like this despite the fact that he never actually told Harry about the source of the aufero spell.
"Besides, they’re a part of me. If Voldemort never gave me this," Harry puts his free hand on his forehead. "My life would be completely different now. It’s made me who I am. And not just this one, a lot of them are like that. They show where I am and where I’ve been, my history. They’re just as much a part of me as the rest of my skin is. Why would I want to get rid of that?"
Draco can’t argue with that, so he simply ruffles Harry’s hair.
"You’re such a Gryffindor," he says, but there’s a tone of fondness in it now that never existed when they were younger.
"I know. But I’m a Slytherin too, and my Slytherin side tells me that old scars can come in handy sometimes."
"Like how?"
"I have absolutely no idea. But knowing my luck with things... I'm probably going to find out."