Author's note: This is a birthday fic for SasuNaruGaaraIta! Happy birthday, sweetheart!

Also yes, as my time management seriously sucks lately and I've been busy with studying and helping out in the household, I didn't manage to finish this fic as a oneshot *pauses* Which means that this fic will have at least one more part, if not two depending on how much my brain screws me over. So yeah.

HEED THE WARNINGS!

Warnings: Harry's pov; not epilogue compliant; established slash; angst - prepare for a lot of angst; drama; brief scene of violence; permanent disfigurement; very insecure Harry trying to cope with the sudden change; description of wounds

I don't want to offend or hurt anyone with this fic. It contains sensitive themes. This fic will deal with a rather heavily scarred Harry and how he tries to cope with it. I try my best to keep it realistic, but I don't have any experience with it and I hope I won't hurt or offend anyone with this.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling owns it.

Dedicated to: SasuNaruGaaraIta

Without further ado, here's the first part.

Part 1

Emerald green eyes glanced with slight exasperation at the blond haired man leaning against the cream coloured wall. "Why are you sulking?" the dark haired wizard asked dryly and threw his damp towel on the floor in favour of pulling on a faded pair of blue jeans.

"I am not sulking. I'm miffed. There's a difference," his blond companion sniffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, scowling at the man leisurely looking at the neatly folded shirts in the wardrobe.

"And why, pray tell, are you miffed?" Harry inquired and bit his lip, tilting his head a bit to the left while he tried to decide whether he should select the light blue shirt or the maroon coloured one.

"Because you did nothing to deter that flirting of that miserable prick who seriously needs some tanning advice!" Draco spat annoyed.

Harry shifted his eyes from the two shirts to his lover in surprise. "Flirting? Draco, what on earth are you rambling about? He wasn't flirting with me," he remarked confused and then hummed when he finally chose the light blue shirt.

When he turned his attention back to Draco, he was just in time to see the Pureblood rolling his eyes in disbelief.

"What?" Harry frowned and shrugged on the shirt, easily slipping the buttons through the narrow holes.

"How could you be so daft? That guy was definitely flirting with you and you're telling me you didn't even realise it?" Draco stared at him as if he was a hopeless idiot.

Harry made an impatient sound and sat down on the bed to lace his shoes. "Look, let's pretend that he was indeed flirting with me." He had to hold back laughter at the thought that Michael was flirting with him; he really wasn't the man's type. "It's not like I would ever give in to him. I have you, remember? Besides, I very much doubt he was interested in anything else than my fame."

That was what most of the people were after who tried to capture his attention long enough to talk to him, anyway. All they could see was the famous Boy-Who-Lived-Twice; they didn't care about who he was, just how much money they could get from him and his fame that would hopefully rub off on them if they stayed near him long enough.

"Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? For Merlin's sake, it's not like you're ugly. You attract far too much people with your looks," Draco fussed and he looked quite annoyed. He would probably start tugging on his hair soon.

A chuckle couldn't be contained and Harry stood up, sauntering over to his lover. "All right, what do you want me to do about these people who – according to you anyway – are flirting with me? It's not like I can stop them from doing that. It's not like I'm encouraging them," he pointed out calmly.

"Stop being so beautiful and they might back off," Draco groused out and his steel grey eyes sparked.

Harry laughed and shook his head in disbelief. He knew he wasn't ugly, but it wasn't as if he was as handsome – or as beautiful as Draco insisted on using – as his lover insisted. His hair resembled a bird's nest more than normal hair; he was still fairly thin, despite the layer of muscles he had managed to build up through his training and job as Auror and no potion had managed to cure his bad eyesight, so he was still forced to wear his glasses. The only remarkable feature about him, he admitted, were his eyes. He could admit that those were special; aside from pictures of his mum, he hadn't encountered anyone yet who had the same shade of green as he had.

Overall, though, he was plain looking and he never understood why Draco thought that people were attracted to his looks instead of his fame.

He linked his hands around Draco's neck and raised a bit on his tiptoes to deliver a soft kiss on pale rose lips. "But if I wasn't beautiful, how would I ever have attracted your attention?" he teased.

Strong arms slipped around his waist to pull him closer and he grunted when their hips connected. "Your looks are a nice extra, but it's your wit that charmed me. Amongst many other things," Draco breathed out and claimed his mouth in a harsh, passionate kiss.

Harry moaned in surprise and opened his mouth as soon as he felt an insistent tongue pressing against it. He could practically taste the jealousy coating Draco's lips and he relaxed, giving over control to the blond. Draco, who was often still quite insecure of his place in Harry's life due to the war, tended to have quite a possessive streak. Harry didn't really mind that; as long as Draco refrained from hexing people he thought were flirting with Harry, the dark haired man could deal with the fact that the Pureblood was more prone to jealous fits than Ron was when a bloke tried to flirt with Hermione.

A small part – something he would deny ever existed – of him felt flattered that Draco thought he was worthy of becoming jealous over. Draco's possessiveness even gave him some sort of thrill and he loved the moments when the blond showed him just who he belonged to. He would never admit that aloud, though; Draco's ego certainly didn't need more inflating.

"I'll be back in a few hours, okay?" Harry murmured, when he pulled back with a soft gasp.

"Or you could stay in," Draco remarked and looked suggestively at their bed.

The dark haired man grinned. "As much as I'd like to do that, I can't," he said ruefully. "Seamus is only in town for today and he wanted to go for some drinks before he has to take his next international Portkey."

"If he doesn't blow himself up," Draco muttered darkly; a light sneer lingering around his lips.

Green eyes rolled, but Harry didn't deign it worthy of a reply. It wasn't as if Seamus was that bad anymore.

"Do you have to dress up so nicely for just a few drinks with that nitwit, though?" Draco demanded and frowned severely.

An exasperated sigh left him. "It's just a shirt and jeans; there's nothing nice about this outfit," Harry pointed out and pocketed his wand.

"You could wear rags and you'd still look great," Draco grumbled, but he finally seemed to give up on the argument.

Harry snorted and shook his head; as much as he'd love to argue about his clothes with Draco, he was pressed on time and if he didn't leave now, he would be late.

"You really don't believe me when I say you look great, huh?" Draco murmured and when Harry chanced a glance, he felt his cheeks heat up a bit at the sight of burning grey eyes. A dark smirk curled up the corners of Draco's mouth and he pressed a harsh kiss on Harry's lips before he muttered, "That's all right; I'll show it to you when you come back."

"Sounds like a plan," Harry retorted weakly; his mind already conjuring up ideas of what they could do once he was back.

Draco's deepening smirk said he knew exactly what Harry was thinking about and the dark haired wizard huffed before hastily leaving the room.

Merlin knew he wouldn't leave the house at all if he stayed in the room any longer.

"I'm so glad we could meet up tonight," Seamus grinned and waved exuberantly at the people in the bar; some of who laughed and waved back before the door fell shut behind them.

Their breath left them in the form of white clouds; snow was slowly falling down around them and Harry stuck his hands deep into his pockets, grateful for the Heat Charm he had remembered to cast on his clothes before he left the house. To make up for not having had a white Christmas, Mother Nature seemed intent on putting all the snow in January now.

"Me too, it was great to see you again," Harry smiled and their footsteps created almost inaudible 'crunch' sounds as they walked over the snow covered sidewalk. "What time do you need to take your Portkey?"

Seamus grimaced, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. "At four o'clock in the morning," he groaned. "I fucking hate time differences."

Harry grinned and clapped his friend on his shoulder. "Well, you were the one who chose this job."

"Shacking up with Malfoy seems to have stolen your sympathy," Seamus complained, but his eyes glittered amused.

"I'm plenty sympathetic," Harry snorted and his grin widened as he continued, "My sympathy just ran out for this week."

"Oh, it's like that, is it?" the Irish wizard laughed and shook his head.

"Potter!"

Harry turned around, curiosity peaking at hearing his name coming from an unknown voice. A person, whose face was mostly hidden by a large hood, came to a stop a few feet in front of him. Harry frowned, wariness filling him at not being able to see the person's face and asked tentatively, "What can I - "

The person's hand suddenly shot upwards and the sound of liquid sloshing had Harry instinctively raising his arms and opening his mouth to cast a Shield Charm. Before his shield could rise up completely, the unknown liquid hit him in his face, splashing apart on his cheeks, nose and forehead as he clenched his eyes shut in reflex.

For the first few seconds he felt nothing, only the liquid dripping down his face and he heard Seamus shouting next to him.

Then the burning started, fire eating away his flesh, digging deeply into his bones and he screamed, screamed and screamed as pain, hellish pain like he hadn't experienced ever before set his entire body on fire; his fingers desperately wiping over his face as he tried to get rid of the liquid.

But then the fire seemed to get worse, like a hellish inferno; the pain making his nerves scream in outrage, and everything went black.

His entire body was numb.

That was the first thing he became aware of when the blackness receded and he slowly became conscious again.

The second thing he became aware of was the sensation of having something pressing down on his face; it felt like a mask had been placed on his face and he was perplexed. Why would he be wearing a mask?

Where was he?

"Harry? Harry, can you hear me?" Hermione's concerned voice filtered through the fog in his brain and he blinked.

A white blur greeted him when he opened his eyes and he blinked harder until his sight cleared up enough for him to see that he was staring at a white ceiling. Slowly he turned his head in the direction of Hermione's voice, feeling disconcerted when he still couldn't feel anything, not even a slight twinge in his neck.

"'Mi-one?" he croaked out. "Whe-where 'm I?"

"Saint Mungos, mate." That was Ron leaning over him; his freckles stood out sharply against his ashen skin. "How are you feeling?"

"I … don't kn-know," Harry struggled to say and frowned. "Wha-what happened?"

"I'll call the Healer," Hermione muttered in a choked voice and hurried out of the room.

"Ron?"

Stating that the ginger haired man looked uncomfortable was an understatement. "What do you remember?" he asked carefully.

Harry blinked and tried his best to recall what had happened. It had to have been something bad for him to have landed in the hospital, but he hadn't been on a mission, so how …

He inhaled sharply when memories of the attack suddenly broke through. The mysterious person who had called out to him … The searing pain that had exploded when the unknown liquid had hit him in the face …

His screams of agony echoed in his mind and he swallowed, fingers flexing against the rough sheets.

"I – was attacked," he replied haltingly; recalling all too well how his skin had burnt and hissed as if it was being boiled. "But – I – I don't know who did it." Seamus had been shouting, maybe had even used spells, but that he couldn't remember. "How – I got hit by a potion. What did it do?"

Ron opened his mouth, but nothing came out except for a strangled choking sound and he stared helplessly at the dark haired wizard.

"Ron?"

"Mister Potter, it's good to see you awake." A Healer, a greying man with a bushy moustache, entered the room; sharp dark eyes studying Harry intently. "How are you feeling?"

Hermione slid next to Ron, grabbing his hand, as she smiled rather watery.

"Honestly? Numb. I can't feel anything," Harry answered; green eyes shooting back and forth between his friends and the Healer. "And is there some sort of mask on my face?"

"Yes, there is," the Healer replied, halting at the foot end of the bed. "My name is Mark Calling and I treated you when you were brought in, which was three hours ago."

"Three hours ago?" Harry repeated alarmed. "Shit! I told Draco I'd only be away for a few hours."

"I already sent him a Patronus. He should be on his way," Hermione said soothingly, but her free hand was twisting itself around a fold in her skirt, belying her calm façade.

"Can I leave soon?" Harry directed his question at Calling, who stilled. "I remember being attacked with a potion, but I still don't know what it did."

"You haven't looked at yourself yet?" Calling questioned; something indescribable stirring in the depths of his eyes.

"No, I haven't. I just woke up. Why?" Harry asked apprehensively; worry stirring like a hungry lion inside him. What kind of odd question was that?

"It – I thought it was better if you explained everything first," Ron muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, glancing oddly at the Healer.

"That is for the best, yes," Calling agreed calmly and sighed. "Mister Potter, what I am about to say – it's not easy."

"Okay?" the dark haired man said uncertainly, already not liking the direction this conversation was going in nor the way Ron and Hermione were suddenly avoiding his eyes.

"You were assaulted with the Acidus Perpetuus potion. We gave you Pain Soothers to combat the pain, which is why you're feeling a bit numb now," Calling started and apprehension lurked in his deep voice. "I'm not certain whether you know this potion, but the potion is meant to resemble acid with the same effects."

His heart stopped. White noise filled his ears and he saw Calling's mouth moving, but he couldn't hear what he was saying.

Acid. His heart started beating rapidly, harshly, like he was running for his life. Acid. The white noise receded slightly, loud rushing of his blood replacing it; other noise muted as if he was swimming underwater. Acid. His body flashed hot, cold, hot, cold, back to hot and then cold again.

Then, as if he was breaking through the surface of the water, sounds exploded around him, his ears ringing from the assault.

"… were fortunate that you covered your face with your arms, because it could have ended much worse," Calling was saying, tapping a quill on the parchment in his hands. "The potion hit your face partly, so the damage was secluded to - "

"How long before I'm completely healed?" Harry interrupted him; voice rough and scratchy.

Acid. That was why he was wearing some sort of mask, wasn't it? What was the mask doing? Compressing his skin? Infusing his skin with the antidote? How bad was it? It had felt like his entire face had been on fire, the agony too unbearable to describe.

A choked sound escaped Hermione and there were tears spilling over her cheeks when Harry darted a glance at her.

Shit.

Something akin to pity flashed across Calling's face and Harry's stomach cramped up. Pity was never good.

"I'm sorry, Mister Potter, but there is no antidote for this particular potion. We can apply – and have applied – potions on the affected area to close the wounds in order to prevent infection, but the scarring – the scarring is permanent. I'm sorry," Calling spoke and he sounded sincerely apologetic.

Permanent scarring. No antidote. The words bounced through his head as he tried to make sense of them and a lump started to form in his throat, making it harder for him to breathe.

"Let me see," he rasped and anger slipped through the cracks, lightning him up, when the others visibly hesitated. "Let me see!" he snapped, but panic was already pushing away the anger, slipping its treacherous arms around him, squeezing his chest tighter and tighter.

Calling inclined his head after a short pause and conjured a handheld mirror out of a piece of parchment. Hermione took it over from him and stepped closer to Harry, holding the mirror in front of his face with a trembling hand.

"I know it looks bad, but the most important part to remember is that the potion didn't manage to reach your bones," Calling said calmly. "The damage is contained to the upper layer of your skin. If it had affected the bones in your face, you might not have been able to lead a normal life. The scarring is mainly superficial and while you might need to take a potion once in a while to soothe possible flare ups of the pain, you will be able to go through life like you're used to."

They were empty words. Calling's reassurance was useless. What did it matter that the scarring was superficial? What did it matter that it wouldn't bother him too much in his daily life when he looked like – like – like …

A freak, a dark voice in the back of his mind pointed out and he wanted to scream but nothing came out except some strangled whimper as he stared with growing horror at himself in the mirror.

The tip of his nose looked mangled, as if a part had melted away, taking a part of his left nostril with it. It looked somewhat flattened and shone a bright red as if the top layer of his skin had been scraped off. His scar – the proof that he had survived Voldemort's attack all those years ago – wasn't recognisable anymore. It was hidden in a mess of shining red tissue; skin mangled as if someone had pinched his skin together and spelt it frozen like that.

His cheeks had suffered the most underneath the attack. It looked like his skin had been melting off, dripping down until it was forcibly shoved back against his face. There was some sort of dent right underneath his right eye as if a small chunk of flesh had been torn off. His left cheek looked like the skin was bunched up, creating strange, small folds; shining red and pale skin tone mixing and clashing with each other. His right cheek didn't have any folds but a large patch of shining red tissue glared back at him, as if the skin was scraped, revealing the tiny blood cells underneath.

His neck bore some smaller reddish patches, but none as severe as the one covering his right cheek.

His mouth and eyes had survived the attack unscathed and something in him broke.

"I know it must come as a shock, but you were actually lucky that the potion didn't have the chance to reach your bones," Calling said softly, as if that would make it all better.

As if that would make up for the fact that he would look like this for the rest of his life.

Ice replaced the blood in his veins as realisation dawned on him that he would never look the same again. This, this face that was staring back at him from the mirror – this was how he was going to look like for the rest of his life.

There was no longer smooth skin greeting him; now it was nothing more than a molten, shining red mess, frozen like that forever; his unblemished eyes and mouth looking tauntingly out of place in the scarred mess that was his face now.

He would never … he would never …

A hysterical chuckle was torn out of him, causing Hermione and Ron to stare at him alarmed, as a dark thought shot through his head: now Draco wouldn't have to worry anymore that people would try to seduce Harry. There was no way anyone would want –

His breath hitched and a different sort of pain exploded in him as the image of Draco fixated itself in his mind.

Draco.

How was Draco going to react? He had never missed a chance to tell Harry how beautiful he was, how alluring, how mesmerizing.

What was his boyfriend going to think when he saw how Harry looked like now? Would he still want to be with Harry now that he looked like this? Now that he was no longer beautiful?

Would he still …

The door slammed open; the window trembling with the force.

Grey eyes met green ones and widened.

The last pieces that had been holding Harry together shattered.

AN: Prepare for a heavy fic, guys. There will be a happy ending, but it will take a bit before Harry reaches that ending.

Again, I don't want to hurt or offend anyone with this story.

Please let me know what you thought about it; should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.

See you all in the next chapter.

Cuddles

Melissa