From Hero to Murderer
There is nothing but silence as he walks into the office. There is no fire roaring in the fireplace, no Fawkes on his stand and everything seems darker than it used to. Dumbledore is ahead of him, already reaching his grand chair, sitting down on it like a king on his throne. Harry shuffles after him, hands in pockets; one clutches around the handle of his wand. His brow is furrowed as he takes the smaller seat opposite the headmaster, with the mahogany desk separating them.
-"Sectumsempra!" He calls out… bright light lurches out of his wand and it's flying… flying…-
Dumbledore clasps his hands in front of his face, leaning forward intently to study Harry, blue eyes surveying him intently but all Harry can see is blood, dying eyes and pale, moving lips of the dying. Slowly, the headmaster stretches his bony hand towards an ornate china dish, filled with what Harry knows to be sherbet lemons and plucks one from the pile inside. Dumbledore chews it savouring, sluggishly and it makes Harry want to scream, to rage, to do something.
Haven't you done enough? His mind is spiteful, whispering words of hate and Harry agrees because he's horrible and deserves no less.
-The curse strikes, the wound opens and it's big… blood spills out and it's everywhere… Draco falls to the floor, eyes swerving around madly looking for help that Harry can't give…-
They have yet to speak. The silence stretches out, tense and guiltily, until it's almost too much. Dumbledore continues to eat his sherbet lemons and he's watching Harry, waiting for the younger one to speak. Harry isn't going to speak. What can he say? His apologies will mean nothing after the act he's committed. He knows Dumbledore is going to ask what happened, despite probably already knowing, and Merlin, what can Harry say?
He looks down at his hands. Absently, he notices that he's got blood on his glass lenses, little flecks that pale in comparison to the amount that covers the rest of him. Surely there isn't that much blood inside a person? But there is… his hands are drenched in it. The blood is turning cold, still drying and it's a reminder that he's no better than Voldemort now. His innocent has been tainted, destroyed, all because he trusted a book.
Ginny's experience with the diary should've taught him not to trust books but the diary had been alive, animate. This was just a simple Potions text book with added notes in the margins. He should never have trusted the Half Blood Price. Never.
-He rushes forward but there's nothing he can do… scarlet blood stains the white tiles like water and it's morbidly beautiful… Draco's dying!... Harry tries to lift Draco, to take him to the Hospital Wing but the boy glares at him… pale lips move soundlessly… I hate you, Potter, he tries to whisper…-
"Harry," Dumbledore begins, breaking the silence with his sombre voice. "Can you tell me what happened tonight?"
Harry blinks. What did happen tonight? How to explain it to someone that would never understand…?
He doesn't know how it happened, but it did. And the truth of the matter is that in mere seconds, he's turned from a hero into a murderer. With one spell, he's crossed into the legions of Voldemort's level and it sickens him how easy it was to do so.
"I killed him." A hysterical laugh bubbles in his throat and he lets it out.
-Time seems to stop… Draco's still dying… he can't save him… grey eyes search for his and they meet… slowly, impossibly slow, the light fades and he's dead… dead as a door nail and it's all Harry's fault…-
There's silence after that and it's filled with a million 'what if's and 'what now's. He doesn't know what will happen now.
But he does know that Draco Malfoy is dead and it's all his fault.