Scars In the Snow

The charmed wizarding tent was warm and cozy on this brisk winter's day, with all four of its occupants settled in for the evening. Soft golden light from the floating lanterns reflected off the polished wood of the sitting-room table where Ron and Drusilla sat opposite each other.

A wizard's chessboard sat between them. The few pieces still remaining in one piece muttered and shifted anxiously, occasionally making threats to the opposing side. From the small library alcove came the occasional rustle of pages. Hermione had claimed the best armchair nearly an hour ago and showed no sign of leaving it anytime soon.

Harry wandered past, restless as usual, hands in his pockets. He had a sly grin on his face as if looking for mischief. Again, as usual.

"So, who's winning?"

Ron leaned back in his chair, looking thoroughly smug. "Who do you think?"

Drusilla exhaled through her nose. "You wouldn't think it by looking at him," she muttered, "but he's bloody damn good."

Harry leaned over her shoulder. His cheek brushed against hers, and she elbowed him lightly without taking her eyes off the board.

"Not now, Potter. I need to concentrate. And you're very distracting."

He leaned back, but his breath continued blowing on her ear. "What's the wager this time?"

"A Galleon if he wins. Him wearing Slytherin colours at the next Quidditch match if I win."

Hermione's voice floated from the library. "Ron, when you win that Galleon, I want to use it to help refurbish the Gryffindor team's locker room. Ginny says it's in quite the state of disrepair since the Carrows remodeled it last year."

"It's all yours, sweetie," Ron called back cheerfully.

Drusilla tentatively moved a bishop two spaces. Ron considered for a moment, then slid his queen across the board with quiet finality. She studied the position, lips pressed together, then slowly hung her head.

"Damn..."

She dug a gold coin out from her pocket and held it up. Hermione appeared as if summoned, plucked it neatly from her fingers, and vanished back into the library with a satisfied little hum.

"Best two out of three?" Hermione offered from behind the doorway.

"Best not," Harry said before Drusilla could agree. "I don't ever want to see Ron wearing green, and I also don't want to see Dru living under a bridge after gambling away the entire Malfoy fortune." He smiled down at her as if she were a child learning a lesson. "You know better than to bet against Ron at wizard's chess."

"I've been practicing," she said, almost sulky. "I thought I could finally beat him this time. Bastard..."

Harry squeezed her shoulder. "Come on. I'm getting fresh water for tea. Walk down to the lake with me?"

Drusilla raised a brow. "What's the purpose of importing infinite foreigners if I'm the one having to do the manual labour?"

"I'll carry everything," he promised, already amused. "You just keep me company."

She considered, then rose with exaggerated dignity. "Very well. But if I get a single blister on my hands or toes, you will be spending the rest of the evening kissing them." She glanced at Ron and almost begrudgingly held out her hand which he cheerfully shook. "Well done, Weasley. At this rate, the entire Gryffindor team will be riding around on Firebolts by this time next year."

"Much obliged," Ron said, treating himself to a piece of chocolate.

Drusilla wiped her hand off Harry's shoulder and followed him to the tent's opening. He held the flap open for her, revealing a world covered in snow that looked straight out of a Christmas card.

Malham Cove rose in a great curved cliff of pale limestone, dusted with early snow that caught the last of the evening light. The valley below was quiet and white, the lake at its foot a perfect sheet of dark glass. A handful of Muggle campers were visible on the far shore, tiny and unimportant behind their magical wards. The fresh air smelled of pine and campfire smoke.

"So this is where you lot were staying while I was hiding in bathrooms back at school," she murmured. "It's beautiful."

Harry nodded. "Hermione's parents used to take her here on holiday. After Ron left us last year, she needed some cheering up. I think coming back here has been good for her, and Ron."

They walked in comfortable silence down the hill, hands linked. Their breath made small frosted clouds. When a particularly sharp gust cut across the water, Harry shrugged out of his Gryffindor coat and held it out for her.

She looked at the scarlet and gold as though it were a hideous creature that personally offended her.

"It'll be a cold day in hell before I'm caught dead in those colours, Potter."

He laughed and shrugged it back on. He noted her Slytherin coat and scarf, and let his gaze linger over her pleated skirt and dark leggings. "The feeling's mutual."

They reached the water's edge. Harry cast a spell that cut a hole in the ice, then filled two large flasks while she stood beside him, arms folded against the cold. Her customary hard gaze softened somewhat looking at the pristine landscape.

"Coming here was a good idea," she said quietly. "I've never holidayed like this before, and we don't get nearly enough time alone together."

He glanced up. "I'm glad you came. Sorry it's another double-date with Ron and Hermione. Auror partners are supposed to stay together as much as possible their first year of training, and I've missed Hermione."

"I'm enjoying getting to know them better," she answered, surprisingly sincere. "Hopefully the feeling's mutual. Weasley's your best friend and partner. And Granger is... well, Granger. It feels right that I should be the one to fit myself around them, not the other way around. It's been... interesting getting to know you three outside the classroom."

"Oh really?"

She gave him a sideways smirk. "I admit I had my fair share of misconceptions about you lot, but I was vindicated that each of you is utterly hopeless without the other two. You three share a single brain cell that you take turns passing it around. It's an admittedly large and sometimes brilliant brain cell, especially when it's Granger's turn to monopolize it, but nonetheless, I stand here vindicated. You're all hopeless."

Harry stood, flasks in hand, and studied her face for a moment. She could see the soft, careful look he got when he was thinking about the future. A marriage proposal was coming soon. She could feel it. At Hogwarts after Christmas dinner, if she had to guess.

Ron, she suspected, would wait until Hermione's graduation. The man had a sense of theatre when it suited him, but it was also practical since she was overburdened with school enough already.

Drusilla reached up and brushed a speck of snow from his collar. Just when did he get so tall? Or handsome?

"Go on ahead," she said. "I'll follow in a minute. I just... need a moment to myself."

Harry nodded, understanding. He always did. His lips brushed against the faint scar on her cheek. His hand slid over the scar on her hip. Goosebumps traveled up and down her spine and even her toes curled. She stood there breathless, eyes half-lidded, feeling her temperature steadily rising.

He smiled against her cheek, then started back up the gentle slope toward the tent.

"You'll pay for that, Potter," she breathed, swaying slightly. "When I'm through with you, you're going to regret ever stealing my heart and leaving me hot and bothered all these years. Bastard..."

Drusilla stayed by the lake's edge, breathing in the winter silence, letting the constant low hum of nature calm her down. It was better than any cold shower she'd ever taken, but she felt her temperature rising again when she heard footsteps sneaking up behind her.

She straightened when a wand tip pressed against her back.

"Not the wand I was hoping for. And about three inches shorter than advertised, I'm afraid. To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

She turned her head. The stranger grinned a smile of missing teeth. What remained of his hair was greasy, and just like the rest of him, didn't appear to have been washed in weeks.

"I know a pure blood when I see one," he said in a thick Cockney accent. "I'm betting you'll fetch a fair price. You're right fucked now, ain't you, miss?"

She kept her voice perfectly level. "Is your name Harry Potter?"

His brows knitted together in confusion. "What? Course not."

"Pity..."

The spell was wordless and instantaneous. The man flew backward, hit the frozen ground hard, and was immediately covered in thick black chains that smoked faintly where they touched his skin. He lay still, unconscious, though he could have been dead for all she cared.

Drusilla looked down at him with mild distaste, hawthorn wand in her hand, previously hidden up her sleeve.

"Then there'll be no fucking me in the arse, I'm afraid."

She scanned the treeline, heard nothing from the direction of the tent, and broke into a run up the hill. She crested the rise and cleared the wards to find six men in dark robes engaged with Harry, Ron, and Hermione behind the tent while four already lay on the ground.

Harry and Ron moved like a well-oiled machine that had been dueling together for years, which of course, they had. Harry was a natural spellslinger, firing disarming spells nonstop while Ron used a variety of defensive magics. Hermione meanwhile took turns alternating between powerful hexes and fortifying their defenses with Ron.

In the seconds Drusilla allowed herself to study them, she saw efficiency that bordered on elegance, and saw no reason to disrupt their cohesive unit with a loose cannon like her.

The trio must have noticed her because they were slowly working their way toward her, but the wizards in black hadn't yet.

"Incarcerous!" The binding jinx struck the most formidable-looking of the attackers, dropping him to the ground in chains where he squirmed helplessly. She tried incapacitating another but her spell was blocked and she suddenly found herself on the defensive.

She'd been a fair duelist back at Hogwarts. One of the better in her class, actually, but it wasn't her specialty and she was out of practice, and two of the men clearly had some experience fighting Aurors.

Drusilla used the trees for cover while casting the strongest defensive charms she knew. She figured if she could just draw some of their fire, it'd make the trio's job that much easier since they were out in the open without cover.

Another of the dark wizards fell, courtesy of Harry this time. Meaning the sides were even. Except the trio were clearly trying to keep their attackers alive while they fired Unforgivable Curses left and right.

A cold, familiar detachment settled in Drusilla's chest. In order to properly curse someone, you had to mean it. Had to want it with every fiber of your body. It's why hers was covered in faint scars and why she had very nearly bled to death on a bathroom floor two years ago.

To make your enemy's body look as though it'd been put through a meat grinder, you actually had to want it first...

She saw her opening, and she took it.

"Sectumsempra!"

She knew her curse had hit its target when she heard the screaming. In her hand, her hawthorn wand practically purred it was so pleased with itself.

The screams were vivid enough, and the sight grizzly enough to prompt the remaining three wizards to find better cover. Unfortunately for them, Hermione had already created an invisible barrier, blocking their escape, and two more fell, immobilized on the ground.

Leaving just one dark wizard to contend against Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger...

Drusilla didn't bother assisting them. Once again she got the feeling she would only get in their way, and so hurried to the dying man's side. She knew from experience that he had about a minute before he bled to death from too many lacerations to count. Some would be the size of a papercut, and others thick enough to fit a hand through.

She slid beside him, made sure he was disarmed, and raised her wand, concentrating hard.

"Vulnera Sanentur," she murmured.

The effects of the counter-curse were immediate as well as miraculous. The man's fatal wounds began closing and the flow of blood became a mere trickle. Her wand hovered over him, glowing slightly. Once she was certain he'd live, Drusilla cast a sleeping charm just to make sure he didn't recover enough to put up any more of a fight.

Standing up still behind cover, she took a deep breath and stared fondly down at her wand. It was rather unique in the wizarding world. She was probably the only Death Eater with unicorn hair for their wand's core. They made for the most reliable wands but were often less powerful and disliked using dark magic.

Hawthorn wood meanwhile needed skill to use without risking a backfire, and was contradictory in nature. It specialized in dark curses and healing magic. They couldn't be more opposite, but both came as natural to Drusilla as potion brewing.

"Good thing too," she muttered, careful not to get blood on her clothes.

"Drusilla!"

She turned and saw Harry running toward her. "Are you alright!?"

"Not even a blister for you to kiss. What about everyone else?" She checked him over, noticing a couple of new scrapes and bruises but nothing out of the ordinary. Ron and Hermione appeared then, looking much the same before hurrying off. All around them, chains rattled courtesy of their prisoners, and half-broken wards shimmered. An impressive feat considering the caliber of the witches and wizards that created them.

Drusilla's eyes finally stopped checking for injuries, and saw that Harry was studying the man who'd nearly bled to death. Recognition showed on his face, and Drusilla mentally scolded herself for not restraining herself earlier.

"He'll live, and he'll have far fewer scars than the rest of us."

She chastised herself again. She might enjoy dark, self-deprecating humor, and turning her emotions off in favor of detached logic, but Harry wasn't nearly as cynical or jaded.

Harry had trouble looking at her just then, and he quickly shifted his gaze away from her and the gruesome scene to another of their prisoners.

He pointed his wand, and his lip twisted in a grim smile. "That one's Michael Travers. Death Eater on the run. Ron and I have been looking for him. Looks like he got tired of hiding and brought friends. Doesn't explain how they found us or got past our wards though..."

Drusilla studied another. "That one looks familiar. Distant cousin, I think. There's another by the lake. He recognized me as old-blood and wanted to take me for ransom. Couldn't possibly know where he got that notion from."

She adjusted her green and black coat, then turned to Harry who was still avoiding her gaze.

"Potter, if you don't look at me this instant, I'm going to be very cross with you."

Reluctantly, Harry turned to look at her. His eyes briefly flicked to the man on the ground, then back again. For a brief moment, rivers of blood flowed between them, and Drusilla's screams and sobs echoed in his ears.

The moment the curse left his lips, he had never wanted anything more in his life than for the love of his life flayed alive and wearing her skin like loose robes.

It was sheer dumb luck she didn't die in his arms. Not as his soon-to-be fiance, but as a Death Eater. His sworn enemy.

He forced the memory down just like she already had and met her enigmatic gaze.

"Dru..."

Adrenaline was still singing under her feverish skin. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Their lips met, and all was suddenly right with the world.

They broke apart, gasping for air, breath pluming in each other's faces and fogging up Harry's glasses. She bit his lip, rolling it around her tongue until she tasted copper then licked the blood. She pulled back just enough to look up at him through her lashes, breathing deep, eyes dark and dilated.

"I'm right proper fucked now, aren't I?"

Harry's mouth twitched. He was long past being surprised by the things that came out of her mouth. He simply tightened his grip around her bottom and rested his forehead against hers.

"Hermione's contacting the Ministry," Ron said, wandering over. "If you'll give me a hand... Oh, sorry, mate. You're a little busy there. I'll just gather the prisoners myself then. Might wanna make it a quickie. Shacklebolt will be here any minute."

Harry waved his appreciation and acknowledgement while Drusilla continued devouring his mouth. When she finally couldn't breathe anymore, she was left gasping for air, and turned her head so that he could kiss and nibble on her cheek.

She closed her eyes and gripped him tighter, enjoying the warmth between them while snow lightly dusted their heads and shoulders.

"I love you," he whispered.

"You better..."

(A/N: Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. If you did and would like to read more Harry/Drusilla, you might also enjoy my other one-shots "Love Pure As Hate" and "Snake Out of Water".

Ron and Drusilla playing chess and her losing was the inception of this one-shot, followed shortly by her lines after getting ambushed. I wanted to show that while she's not on the trio's dueling level, she's still very competent. Canonically, Draco's specialties in potion brewing, alchemy, dark artifacts/antiques, Occlumency (protection from mind reading), dark curses, and healing charms. The latter two are an interesting contradiction, just like his wand. I feel as though this fits "Malfoid" better than it did Draco, but that's just me.

I really like the idea that both Harry and Drusilla have some PTSD from the Sectumsempra incident their sixth year. Harry nearly killed someone, the love of his life, and it was understandably traumatic to Drusilla. With that said, although it caused her to further spiral toward the point of no return, she doesn't have any hard feelings about it. Canonically, Draco doesn't have any scars, but I like the idea that Drusilla's are tiny and hardly noticeable, but are sensitive and she VERY MUCH enjoys Harry touching them. Sectumsempra becoming her signature spell afterward, along with its healing counter-curse (both created by Snape) just seemed really, REALLY fitting to me for someone whose specialties are dark curses and healing charms. It would also make Harry having a son named Severus mean a lot more in this scenario in my opinion.

You might have noticed a few British spellings of a few words this chapter. I decided to try something new and have the characters' dialog keep the British spelling of words while the prose remains American. There's no way I as an American can keep it 100% consistent, and there are a few British spellings I dislike that I won't be using, but I think it adds to the story. Along with British slang and phrases, I'll try not to overuse them to the point they're distracting. I'm not British, but I have watched a LOT of British TV and read a handful of British published books, and YouTubers, so I'm not totally without experience.

Thank you again for all the love and support. In my nearly twelve years of writing fanfiction, I have never experienced the sort of support you have shown me this past week. Thank you. More Drusilla/Harry one-shots are (hopefully) on the way, and I hope you enjoy.

All credit goes to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, Who has blessed me with this story and all of you wonderful readers. Thank you, and God bless)