Harry pulled out the Marauder's Map from his trunk with Ron and Hermione's protests still ringing in his ears. "Harry, you're being stupid." "Please, Harry, wait for Dumbledore."

He was sick of waiting. He needed to find Malfoy and he needed to confront him. Why would he try to kill Dumbledore (again)? I thought something was changing... Harry shook his head. No time to linger.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The Map bloomed on the parchment. Harry scanned the castle, but his eyes were drawn to one particular spot. He's back there again. Why?

"Mischief managed!" Harry set off at a jog towards the second floor.

Harry approached the wooden door to the bathroom. He steeled his nerves and pushed it open.

Just like the first time Harry found him here, Draco was hunched over the sink. This time, however, his sobs were unrestrained. He looked up into the mirror at the sound of the door closing behind Harry. He spun around and Harry saw that his face was a mask of terror.

"Harry! Oh, god... Harry. I don't know what to do." Harry wasn't sure whether he was shocked more by Malfoy's tone or the fact that he seemed to be begging Harry for help.

"Malfoy." Harry blocked out the other boy's sobs. "What did you do to Katie?"

"I don't know, Harry, please. I can't remember..."

Harry's rage flashed white hot, out of nowhere. "SHE NEARLY DIED! You almost killed her!" He pulled out his wand and pointed it at Malfoy.

Malfoy dropped to his knees. "Harry, please, you don't understand. I didn't mean–I wasn't–it wasn't me!"

"STOP LYING TO ME!" An image appeared in Harry's mind, of the Prince's book. He could see in the corner of one of the pages a small note: Sectumsempra. For enemies.

Without thinking or hesitating, Harry brandished his wand. "Sectumsempra!"

Malfoy's face blanched and he suddenly became eerily quiet. Red slashes appeared on his chest where Harry's wand was pointing. Blood began to flow.

Malfoy collapsed onto the floor. The bathroom was silent except for Harry's deep, desperate breathing.

"Oh god. Oh god." Harry dropped his wand, fell to his knees next to Malfoy. What do I do? His mind blanked.

He lifted Malfoy's face, cradled his head in his arms. "What do I do?" he whispered.

The bathroom door banged open. Harry jumped and looked up. It was Snape.

Wordlessly, Snape pushed Harry aside. He began moving his wand back and forth across Malfoy's chest, murmuring the words to a countercurse. After a few minutes, the gashes seemed to stop bleeding.

Snape gently picked up the unconscious boy and, with a jerk of his head, wandlessly opened the door.

"Consider yourself extremely lucky that you are not being expelled with a broken wand, Potter. A curse such as this one is more than enough to warrant it."

Then he was gone.

Harry stared at his bloody hands. He thought about the way he had acted–lashing out in a blind rage, striking in hate and not justice. He was as bad as Malfoy.

He curled into a ball. He was worse than Malfoy. He couldn't even cry for his mistake. He couldn't even cry.

He was vaguely aware when, hours later, someone opened the door and gave a cry. He saw as though he were floating above himself a girl with curly brown hair–Hermione–leaning over him, asking him what was wrong.

He floated through the hallways, down to the infirmary. No. That wasn't right. A boy was carrying him. A boy with red hair. Ron.

Sleep.