Despite Draco's pale skin, they stood out on his chest like glowing reminders of Harry's idiocy. Sometimes, when Draco fell asleep before Harry, a rare thing, Harry would lie on his chest and lightly trace the scars with his fingers, counting the slashes, remembering the day he cast the horrid spell.

"Sectumsempra!"

Even now, it sent a shudder of fear and regret coursing through him.

Tonight was no different. After a taxing day at the apothecary, Draco barely had time to stuff himself with dinner and rip off his outer garments before falling into the bed with a loud snore. Draco Malfoy was the most terrible snorer. After finishing up his own paperwork, Harry stripped down and got down in the covers with the blonde man, watching how his ethereal face seemed to shine in the moonlight seeping through their curtains. His features were so smooth, clean. And Harry had ruined his chest, marred it.

Maybe it was the stress of the day, maybe he was feeling overly emotional that day, but when he touched the first scar that night, tears welled in his eyes.

God, how embarrassing, Harry thought. But the teardrops, instead of following down the side of his face, decided to collect on the edge of his nose and cheek. Harry realised too late as tears dripped onto Draco's chest.

The blonde immediately stirred at the random warmth, and Harry wiped his eyes, looking down to avoid the grey gaze.

"...Harry?" He heard. "What are you... why are you still awake?"

Harry cleared his throat, still look pointedly away. "I just got into bed. Sorry I woke you."

"It's alright, but go to sleep now," Draco said gently, putting an arm around him and pulling him closer. A few moments passed, and Harry thought he had fallen asleep. But the characteristic snores were absent, and Draco felt unusually tense.

"Harry?" The sleepiness in his voice had vanished. "Why are you looking down like that. Are you crying?"

"No, no," Harry said, laughing.

"Then why am I wet?" Malfoy asked. A pale hand sneaked underneath Harry's chin and forced him to look up. Harry sighed and gave in, hoping he had done a good jop of brushing away the remnants on his face.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked.

The tears were gone now, but Harry's eyebrows furrowed in anguish. "Draco..."

"Go on."

"I'm sorry..." Harry said sheepishly, trying not to look down at Draco's chest.

"Why?" Panic resounded in his voice. "Are you breaking up with me?"

Harry shook his head vehemently. "No! No, not that."

Harry lifted his hand to trace the scars again, and Draco laughed in exasperation.

"Really, Potter?" He chuckled. "It's been years."

"Oh, fuck off," Harry said coldly, withdrawing himself and trying to turn around so his back was facing the git.

Malfoy caught him fast. "I think it's cute. But also stupid. You don't have to be sorry."

"Of course I do! Look at what I did!"

"Harry why do you think I stopped apologising for what happened in the war? Because it was plain fucking useless, and in the end no one cared about it anyway. I didn't kill anyone. Did you kill me?"

"No, but I could have - "

"Good, you didn't," Draco said. But then his eyes softened. "You could kill me, and I would still think that there was nothing to forgive. Forget about the scars, Potter. I have. I can Glamour them, if that makes you feel better."

Harry shook his head. "No, don't do that."

"Then don't weep over my chest in the middle of the night. Honestly, Potter, you'd have thought I actually did die."

Harry laughed and shoved his shoulder.