What had he done?
He stood frozen in the middle of the bathroom, Myrtles shrieks echoing from the walls, but barely reaching his ears. All he could see was blood.
He watched it spread like a disease, staining the white cotton, flowing onto the floor and snaking out through the water that covered the stone. It was so bright. Too bright to even be real.
Draco's frame as slumped against the sink, the great gash stretching the expanse of his pale chest contrasting heavily against the glowing white of his shirt, his skin, his hair. It was almost sickeningly beautiful.
Harry stood a moment longer, his wand hung limp between his fingers and his eyes wide with shock. But the blood was spreading. He had to do something.
And fast.
He dropped to his knees beside the other boys shaking form, the crimson water soaking chillingly into his trousers. With an audible gulp, he pocketed his wand, bent down low, and lifted Draco from under his shoulders and knees, his body offering no resistance to Harry's touch. His skin was deathly cold, and he shook ever so slightly, eyes gazing out through drooping lids.
Holding him close to his chest, Harry turned to the door and strode as fast as he dared.
"Don't you dare die," he muttered under his breathe, the panic straining with each syllable. He turned into the corridor, the heat of the blood soaking through his uniform with each step driving him forward. "Don't bloody die."
He raced through the halls, up the stairs to the seventh floor as quickly as he could, clutching tight to Draco's shuddering form, as though if he held on tight enough, it would somehow keep him here just that much longer.
He ignored the horrified stares of the other students in the corridors, the gasps and screams as the blood began to drip onto the flagstones. He had no time for that, not now.
When he finally kicked through the door to the hospital wing, just over two minutes had passed since the curse had broken through Draco's flesh. It felt like forever, like every footstep was an eternity, and every breathe drew him closer to the end.
Madam Pomfrey cried in shock, racing over to the pair immediately. "What happened!" was all she could manage to splutter out.
"Fix him."
He felt like a child, like a four year old asking for their favourite toy to be glued back together. Like it was that simple.
He lowered him onto the closest bed so that she could get to work, whipping out her wound and muttering incantations under her breathe. Harry just stood there, dripping with the Slytherin's blood. Tears began to run silently down his face, and it took all his strength not to fall in a useless heap.
He watched the wound closing before him, he watched Draco's sheet white fingers shaking at his side, watched his face, his lips parted slightly as he inhaled shallow, sharp breathes. Sweat beading on his forehead ran into the white of his hair, flecked with the crimson that coated both the boys now.
Harry took a deep breathe, biting down on his lip until the bitter metallic taste of blood met his tongue. He did this. He had left this wound on another person. He felt disgusting.
He was disgusting.
He ran from the room, dropping to all fours and throwing up into the silence. He stank of blood, somebody else's blood. Malfoy's blood.
He crawled to the wall, leaning heavily against it as the tears began to flow in earnest, hot against clammy skin. He balled his fists in his hair, hot and sticky against the softness of his hair. He was such an idiot.
An idiot, for trusting the Prince in the first place, despite everything Hermione had told him. An idiot, for using it when he had no idea of the consequences. An idiot for using it on Malfoy…
He closed his eyes and bowed his head. His heart raced in his chest and his fingers stayed wrapped torturously tight in his hair. What was he going to do? He couldn't walk away from this. They'd expel him, without a doubt. He should go pack his bags, say goodbye to his friends one final time and break his wand in two.
No.
Eyes flicking open again he gazed at the wall opposite for only a moment before clambering to his feet. He looked around him one final time, and stepped back into the hospital wing. The doors creaking ominously loud in the quiet.
Draco was laying silent and still on the bed where Harry had laid him, hands stilled limply at his sides. Madam Pomfrey bustled around him, various concoctions resting on the bedside table.
"He'll be fine," she murmured as the door closed behind him, eyes not leaving her ork for even a moment. "How on Earth he managed an injury like this I beyond me," at this she turned her gaze to Harry, the accusation in that glare was breathtaking.
Harry simply stared blankly back at her. He had no intention of speaking about it with her, the only person who know the truth now was Dumbledore, everyone else would find out from Draco soon enough, once Harry as gone. He cast his eyes to Draco's face, pink high in his cheeks and his breathing even and slow.
Harry turned back to Madam Pomfrey, holding her gaze for a moment before he spoke.
"Take care of him for me." His voice was soft and broken, the desperation behind it lingering in the air before he finished. "Please…"
He turned and left the room, caked in the blood of another boy, tears afresh in his eyes as he walked down the corridors and calmly into Dumbledore's office.