Author's Note: I'm not going to claim that this is an original idea – I'm sure I was only one of about a million H/D fans who squealed with joy while reading Chapter 24, and then imagined scenes similar to what I've wrote. But anyway, you know how it goes... you feel as though something just has to be written, and then you write it.
SPOILERS for Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.
x x x x x x
And so very quietly, as he had learned to do so well in his years of sneaking around, Harry pushed open the door. Moaning Myrtle was not in sight; Harry suspected she was still locked inside one of the cubicles, so Harry approached Malfoy, whose back was to the door. His head was turned downward and he clutched the sink with both hands, his knuckles even whiter than his silver-white hair. Harry's mouth involuntarily sprang open in astonishment: Malfoy was crying.
"No one can help me .. I can't do it .. I can't ... it won't work ... and unless I do it soon ... he says he'll kill me.."
"Oh, you poor boy," came Myrtle's voice from somewhere nearby, "it will be all right, don't you worry ... that's right, I'm here, I'm here to listen, it's all right..."
Malfoy continued to cry, sniffling and sputtering so loud that the echoes bounced off of the high porcelain-tiled walls of the bathroom. Harry remained frozen a few steps from the door, entirely unsure of what to do next. He wasn't quite sympathetic: he was sure that Malfoy had been scheming. He knew he would enjoy the look on Malfoy's face when he saw that he had witnessed him in this state, but he didn't look forward to the curses that would follow soon after – so Harry reached for his wand, and then cleared his throat.
Malfoy whirled around to face him, and Harry saw that his face was puffy and swollen: and there was that look of utter mortification Harry had prepared for. Malfoy grabbed for his wand but before he could even open his mouth Harry shouted "Expelliarmus!" and Malfoy's wand shot from his hand and clattered to the floor. But Malfoy did not move to get it, or say anything. Harry screwed up his face in slight confusion, and then said, without the firmness he'd been hoping to apply in such a conversation, "Malfoy, what have you been doing in the Room of Requirement? What are you plotting?"
"Will you just get out of here!" Malfoy said congestedly, but Harry moved closer, intending to wrest the truth out of him in his weakened state. Then he remembered Myrtle, who was now hovering over the tops of the cubicles, watching both of them intently.
"Myrtle, go away," Harry said. "Go away or I'll never come to see you again and neither will my friends."
"But –-" Myrtle started.
"GO!" shouted Malfoy, with such startling force that Myrtle immediately dropped from sight into one of the toilets.
"Malfoy," Harry said again, "What have you been –-"
Harry couldn't finish his sentence: Malfoy had suddenly turned back to the sink and collapsed upon it, sobbing. Bewildered, Harry found himself again unable to move. Malfoy must be really upset about something, he thought to himself, to have not attacked me instantly. Harry felt sure that his crying was somehow connected to whatever he'd been secretly planning. Suddenly, though, it seemed wrong to say something accusatory when Malfoy stood before him in such vulnerability.
So Harry moved slightly closer yet, and saw that Malfoy, leaning with his elbows braced against the sink, was clutching the wrist of his left hand with his right. He was shuddering, drawing long, loud, tearful breaths, and Harry saw that now Malfoy was bleeding: his fingernails had drawn blood from the fair, almost translucent skin of his wrist; it trickled into the sink.
"What the hell are you doing?" Harry said, tearing Malfoy's arms apart.
"I'm not – I can't..." Malfoy said, the thought spiraling into nothing. Harry had never seen him looking like such a mess, and though he was positive he'd pay for this encounter later, he hesitantly patted Malfoy on the shoulder.
Then, to Harry's incredible disbelief, Malfoy lunged towards him, and it took Harry a moment to realize – and then promptly deny the possibility – that Malfoy was kissing him. It was only for a very brief moment –- or perhaps it was a decade –- but when Malfoy unsealed his mouth from Harry's, he looked about as shocked, if not more so, than Harry did. After a moment of flabbergasted staring, Malfoy scrambled for his wand, picked it up, and yelled "Cruc—" and
Harry, not at all aware of it (since his body and mind seemed to be quite far away from one another at the moment), shouted "Sectumsempra!"
Great slashes suddenly appeared on Malfoy's face and arms and chest; he staggered forwards and then fell, blood pouring out of him faster than Harry was sure was normal.
"Oh no," said Harry, feeling sick, "Oh no, Malfoy, I'm sorry, I had no... oh God." He knelt next to Malfoy, who was already barely conscious, and tried to lift him. Bloodstains blossomed on the moldy tiles around Harry's legs; he could not gain traction on the wet floor and slid again and again to the ground as he desperately tried to help Malfoy to his feet.
He was too heavy. His eyes were now closed, and his robes were dark with blood. Harry's heart was thundering furiously in his chest. Panicked, he got to his feet, and said to Malfoy, with an air of helplessness, "Stay here. I'm getting somebody. Just hang on."
He backed out of the bathroom, his eyes still on Malfoy's limp, bleeding body, and then broke into a run. Just before turning the corner to the stairs, he flung his Invisibility Cloak over his head, after having managed to extract it from his bag while running: he didn't want to attract attention to himself in his blood-stained form. At the precise moment when he disappeared from view, to Harry's heart-stopping surprise, Snape rounded the corner swiftly and began to stride down the corridor in the direction Harry had just come from. Instinctively Harry had flattened himself against the wall; Snape stopped short, seeing the drops of blood in a staggered line all down the hallway. Harry was struck with a sudden jolt of hope: Snape would surely be able to help Malfoy.
Snape quickened his pace as he followed the trail of blood down the hall, towards Myrtle's bathroom. Harry realized that he could easily run away just then, but there was a ball of sickening fearfulness in his stomach; what Malfoy was seriously injured? Moreover, he knew that Malfoy would tell Snape that Harry had attacked him the moment he regained consciousness; he could not avoid claiming responsibility – nor did he want to, he thought to himself. He was the furthest thing from glad or proud of what he'd done – oh, curse that Half-Blood Prince – but he knew that he must face it.
He walked back to Myrtle's bathroom, where Snape knelt, murmuring incantations and prodding Malfoy's cuts with his wand. Harry tore off the Cloak and said, "Professor –"
Snape turned his gaze to Harry immediately. "You did this," he said. Harry felt the blood drain from his face; his eyes flickered to Malfoy, whose wounds were already half-healed. "And you fled."
"No, I – I was going to get help, I – I had no idea the spell was going to –" Harry had to catch his breath. He saw that Malfoy's eyelashes were fluttering; he opened his eyes weakly. Snape said nothing.
"Is he.. will he be all right?" Harry asked faintly. Snape gave him a piercing, incredulous look.
"I am taking Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing," he said. "Please wait right here for me, Potter." He waved his hand over Malfoy's still reclined body once more; the slashes were already nearly gone, though the great volume of blood remained, now pooling in the tiled depressions of the bathroom floor. Snape lifted Malfoy up by his arms and led him into the hall; Malfoy did not break eye contact with Harry until they had turned away. He did not look angry, thought Harry, he looked afraid... pleading.
Harry did not know how long he stood frozen in the doorway. He stared absently at the grimy window pane, his mind reeling. The guilt of having attacked Malfoy so brutally subsided a little: it had looked as though he would be all right. Instead Harry focused on Malfoy's behaviour before the attack: the tears, the trepidation in his voice, the sudden, seemingly rescinded kiss. Harry's insides twisted almost painfully when he recalled it: Malfoy's hands on his neck were cold, but his lips were warm and hungry and Harry couldn't breathe, paralyzed by a sensation that he somehow knew he could not replicate with anyone else –
Then Snape returned, interrupting the thoughts that had just begun to draw warmth to certain parts of Harry's body.
x x x x x x
That evening, Harry took to hiding in the dormitory to avoid the glares of fellow Gryffindors, who had caught wind that the captain of their Quidditch team had detention on the day of the final match. When it came time to give Ron and Hermione the details of the attack, Harry did not feel ready to tell them what had really happened.
"I saw Malfoy on the map in the bathroom, alone. I went in there to try to catch him off guard. I asked him what he was up to in the Room of Requirement, and he attacked me. It looked like he was trying to use the Cruciatus Curse," he explained, hoping that he sounded genuine – it was the truth, more or less. "The Sectumsempra spell was just the first thing that popped into my head... I had no idea it would be that bad."
"Malfoy deserved it," Ron said, offering Harry a Cauldron Cake. Harry refused it; since the incident in the bathroom, Harry had felt as though his stomach had vacated his body. "I'm surprised he didn't give you a worse punishment, though – you attacked his favourite student!"
"No, Snape knows Harry would never perform Dark magic like that on purpose," Hermione remarked. She had snuck into their dormitory to console Harry, and though she was supportive, the event had only bolstered her case against the Half-Blood Prince.
"He knew something was up, though," said Harry. "I think he knows about the Half-Blood Prince. He was awfully suspicious about Ron's Potions book."
"Good thing about the defective quills, then," said Ron, chuckling.
"Yeah, thanks, Roonil," Harry replied, with a small smile.
"What did you do with the real book?" Hermione asked.
"It's in the Room of Requirement," Harry said, shifting his body to look out the window onto the grounds. The sun had just set and its final rays casted bands of yellow light across the grass and trees. He was desperate for night to come so that he could be alone with his thoughts.
"Malfoy knows you're onto him now," Hermione said reprovingly. "He'll probably waste no time telling his Slytherin cronies, too."
"D'you think that Malfoy would really try anything, though, now that he knows you're capable of slicing and dicing him without ever touching him?" Ron said with an edge of laughter in his voice.
Standing up suddenly, Harry said, "Hey, I'm going to take a bath in the prefects' bathroom. I think I still have some of Malfoy's blood caked under my fingernails." He gave a small wave and trudged down the stairs to the common room, where he was greeted by a number of displeased-looking seventh-years.
It was still quite early, too early for anyone to have gone to bed, but Harry found the prefects' bathroom quite unoccupied, and he was relieved to sink into the warm, deep, sweet-smelling water. He closed his eyes, and found that images of the Dark Mark were floating to the forefront of his mind. He remembered Malfoy clawing at the skin of his left arm, and it occurred to him that he had probably already been branded with the Mark. Somehow, in the few hours since everything had happened, the fierce hatred Harry had always harboured for Malfoy had dissipated almost entirely. Instead he felt sympathy, pity, awe, disbelief. Whatever Malfoy had been doing, it was only under threat of death.
At half past eleven, Harry awoke: he had drifted to sleep, not having realized just how tired he was. The bubbles in his bath had all reduced to a thin foam, and the water was lukewarm. Feeling wrinkly and bleary-eyed, Harry hoisted himself out of the bath, dried himself, and got dressed. Before leaving the bathroom he checked the Marauder's Map for a sign of any teacher wandering the corridors; practically automatically, after having done it so many times over the past few weeks, he located the dot labelled Draco Malfoy. The dot rested unmoving in the Hospital Wing, and, unsure as to why, Harry decided that he needed to stop there before going back to Gryffindor Tower.
With the Invisibility Cloak on, and his hair still rather wet, Harry made his way down to the Hospital Wing. He was just about to begin to ponder how to get inside unnoticed when Madam Pomfrey pushed open the great wooden doors, carrying a metal tray laden with various potion bottles, and retired to her office. Harry managed to slip in behind her as the doors closed.
The Hospital Wing was dark and empty, except for a single bed, in which, Harry assumed, Malfoy was sleeping. The room smelled as though candles had recently been put out. Still invisible, Harry tiptoed over to the bed where Malfoy lay, his form rising and falling as he breathed.
From what he could see, the gashes that the spell had made on Malfoy's face and arms had healed completely. He seemed to be sleeping quite deeply, so Harry sat on the edge of the bed, and watched as the faint breeze from the window blew Malfoy's pale hair about his forehead. Then, after checking for Madam Pomfrey, Harry removed his Cloak.
"Malfoy, I'm sorry," he whispered; though he knew Malfoy could not hear him, he also knew that he would never be able to confront Malfoy and say it to his face. How would he even arrive in a situation appropriate for an apology? –-He doubted whether Malfoy would ever allow Harry near him again when they were alone. "I never meant to use that spell, I didn't know what it did," Harry continued. "And I haven't told anyone, not a soul, what you were doing in there, or what... what happened. And... I'll never tell anyone."
Unsure of what else to say, Harry lapsed into silence, simply watching Malfoy sleep. He focused on Malfoy's features: his fine blond hair, as perfectly groomed as ever; his unblemished skin; his lips, which Harry suddenly longed to feel on his own again –
He stood up, puzzled by his feelings. Twelve hours previously, Malfoy had been his mortal enemy, and Harry had taken it upon himself to unravel whatever plan he had been cooking up. How could one confusing encounter reverse over five years of enmity?
Drawing the Cloak back over his body, Harry looked back at Malfoy once more. Feeling possessed by a new, unnamed feeling, he extended his hand and put it lightly to Malfoy's cheek. The sleeping boy drew a sharp breath, then opened his eyes and sat up. Harry stood completely still, invisible. He watched as Malfoy looked around the enormous darkened room, and then, having concluded that he had imagined the touch, fell back against the pillow.