Harry paced.
Harry ran his hands through his hair, again and again and again, walking the length of the Gryffindor common room in repetitive and unhelpful loops. He had been assured and then reassured that Draco survived, but it had been well after midnight when Hermione and Ron finally goaded him to shower and change. It was the first he realized he had been covered in Draco's blood.
Blood he'd drawn.
Harry kept pacing, same as he had been all night and through breakfast. Aside from being told Draco would live, he'd been given no other information. Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape all had a myriad of questions for him last night, but refused to answer any of Harry's.
Dumbledore had kept reassuring Harry that he wouldn't be expelled.
That hadn't crossed Harry's mind. He had been wearing Draco's blood at the time.
"Harry, please sit with us," Hermione said. "You'll drive yourself mad at this rate."
"I could've killed him."
"You didn't kill him," Ginny pointed out. She'd taken the Half-Blood Prince's book to flip through it. "Worse has happened at Hogwarts."
"You didn't see him."
The blood had erupted out so quickly. It had spread across the floor and flooded Draco's eyes, and under it, Draco looked so at peace.
I'm sorry.
What had he been apologizing for? Insulting Harry's parents? Lying about Voldemort? Provoking Harry into an attack?
He couldn't have known how far Harry would go. He never would have expected that sort of spell. At worst, Harry should have hit him. Maybe petrified him and dragged him up to Dumbledore.
What had that curse been?
Ron put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "We've been up all night. You should rest."
"They told me he'll survive. What does that mean? What if he's comatose from here on?"
No one had said Draco would pull through. They hadn't given him assurances that everything would be fine. They all only parroted that he would survive. Survival wasn't truly living.
No one used that word outside of catastrophic happenings. What Harry had done to Draco was unforgivable. The Half-Blood Prince had been right about everything so far this year; every other spell he had created had been useful.
For enemies. What sort of enemies merited that horrific of a spell? And to be created by someone likely in Harry's year?
"I know things with you and Malfoy have been…" Ron couldn't think of a word, and handwaved it. "But you couldn't have known, and you didn't kill him."
"I have to know what's happening."
"He won't want to see you, mate," Ron said, hand still on Harry's shoulder, and the surety was grounding.
"He never wants to."
When had that stopped him before? Draco protested every time Harry found him, but recently, he hadn't been trying to walk away. He had been open. He'd shared things with Harry that would have been unthinkable to confess at any other time.
"I'm going," Harry decided.
"Harry," Hermione said, getting up to block his path upstairs. She didn't block the common room exit. They all must have realized Harry would never be allowed in hospital. He needed his cloak.
"I need to see him," Harry said. "We were arguing. He likely thinks I intended to kill him."
"He's likely asleep," Hermione said. "If your account of his injuries is accurate, they won't want him to wake until he's healed some."
"You think I exaggerated it? To make it sound worse? His body ripped open in front of me."
Harry never knew people had so much blood.
"I'm surprised you used the spell," Ginny said as she snapped the book shut. "Given you've been dancing around Malfoy all year. It's labeled for enemies."
Harry held out a hand to take the book from her, but she didn't offer it back to him. He rolled his eyes, although mentally agreed that he shouldn't take it back. Snape had barely let him slide with the Wazlib cover.
"He all but confessed to planning on killing Dumbledore. Not to mention sneaking in Death Eaters."
Hermione held her ground when Harry tried getting by her. "You said Dumbledore knew. I'd imagine that also means he's handling it."
"I nearly killed someone," Harry pressed, nearly shouting. "He'd be dead if not for Snape. I can't be calm about this, and I can't pretend like things are normal. They aren't. Malfoy is lying in hospital and I need to make sure he's actually okay. That I actually didn't kill him."
"You didn't."
"Move."
Hermione stepped aside. "He won't want to see you."
"I'll be invisible, won't I?"
He made quick work of running upstairs for his cloak and Draco's bag, slightly blood stained, and when he came back down, found the three of them huddled together, talking.
"You might as well get to class," Harry said. "No reason for all of us to get detention."
"I really think you should reconsider this," Hermione said.
"You showing up doesn't help Malfoy," Ron added. "It'll just scare him."
"Maybe you're right and he's still asleep. I just have to know for myself."
Ginny still had the potions book, and Harry looked to her next. "Rip out the page with that spell. Destroy it. No one should know about it."
She nodded. "You're really sure about Malfoy?"
Harry thought to Draco's silent apology. Even without knowing what it meant, he believed it.
"I want to be."
He put on the cloak before leaving, but still ran down the halls. The first class of the day was about to start, so they were mostly empty, although he did startle a group of first years when they saw a set of feet running by them.
If everyone in the castle didn't know about his cloak by now, that was on them.
He reached the infirmary just as Parkinson and Goyle were leaving. He slipped in just before the door closed, then quietly crossed over to the only occupied bed.
Harry raked his gaze over the lines of salve on Draco's face. They were the only two uncovered wounds, as nearly everything from his neck to his waist was wrapped with a layer of bandages. Harry could tell where each cut landed by the thickness of the padding in various stripes.
A braid ran across his hairline, keeping it back from his face. Harry guessed Pansy had taken the time to keep the fringe from sticking to the salve, which also meant Draco was awake.
Harry had essentially shredded him. Was the salve for closing the wounds or for healing the scars?
Draco's eyes opened. He looked around for a moment, then his gaze landed close enough to where Harry stood.
"Breathing loud," Draco said, his voice a rough whisper.
Harry removed the cloak.
"I'm so sorry," he said, because it had to be said first. Harry sat on a stool beside the bed, unable to look away from Draco's face. It wouldn't scar, would it? The lines of salve were so thick, and stretched almost across the length of his face, one left to right, one center to jaw.
Draco gave a small nod. Harry wanted to interpret it as understanding.
"I swear I didn't know what I was casting. I would never intentionally do this to you. To anyone."
Draco's blinks were slow, hopefully due to being given something for the pain. "What spell?" he asked. The words were strained, leaving Harry to question how deep the cut on his neck had gone.
"Sectumsempra."
Draco flinched, but then smirked. "Killing curse."
"What?" Harry shook his head. It couldn't have been. He refused to believe it.
"Learn Latin."
Harry exhaled. "Only you could be smug in this state. I need you to hate me right now."
"Provoked."
Draco's arms were bare, although his left was underneath the bed sheet. Harry wanted to be grateful for that; at least he hadn't damaged Draco's ability to cast spells. But how could he be grateful when Draco was patched together?
"You wanted me to hurt you?"
Draco closed his eyes.
"That doesn't make what I did okay," Harry said. "I could spend lifetimes making it up to you."
Harry was sure Draco tried to lift an eyebrow, but the cut stopped him. Harry gave in to a moment of wonder that it had gone between his eyes. A slightly different angle and it would have slashed across them both.
"This would be a lot easier if you could yell at me."
To that, Draco nodded.
"You made such a fuss over us fist fighting-"
"You."
"Over me hitting you last year," Harry finished. "This is worse."
"Yes."
"Have they told you what the recovery process will be like?"
Draco shook his head.
"But you will be fine?"
Harry's breath left him when Draco shook his head again. He had to be fine. If he wouldn't be fine, then they needed to transfer him to St. Mungo's. They needed to get him somewhere with complete care.
"What do you mean? Why wouldn't you be fine?"
"To cut always."
"What?"
"Sectumsempra."
"That's what the spell translates to?"
"Curse."
St. Mungo's had a curse ward. Certainly they would know how to fix the damage Harry caused.
"Always," Harry said, trying to make sense of what Draco meant given his limited ability to speak. "But you aren't still bleeding."
Draco opened his eyes only long enough to give Harry a tired glare.
"Can you seriously blame me for not knowing what you mean?"
"Yes."
"That's—"
Harry took in the sight of the bandages again. "Okay, that's fair. They should really teach us Latin."
Oddly, that was a connection between muggles and wizards. Harry had often heard of students at private schools being taught Latin, but had thought it was something the rich did to sound snobbish. He had been taught all these spells, but not their roots.
"What won't be okay?" Harry asked.
Draco used a hand to gesture at himself, primarily waving it over the bandages and his face.
"The scarring?"
A nod.
"We live in a world where teleportation, transfiguration, and time travel exist. They can't heal scarring?"
Draco looked pointedly at Harry's forehead.
"That's different. I've never even tried to heal it."
"Wouldn't do."
Moody had scars. So did Lupin. Umbridge had left her mark on the back of Harry's hand.
Why was there so much he didn't know? And what was worse was that he didn't know he needed to know it. He hadn't known to ask the right questions.
"You'll be scarred," Harry said.
"Always."
"I'm sorry," Harry said again.
"Me too."
Harry wrung his hands, still unable to break his gaze away from Draco. His lips were tinged purple from the potions they had given him. The salve reflected the morning light coming in from the window over the bed, but also covered the full extent of what Harry had done.
He'd given Draco permanent scarring. Draco wouldn't even be able to hide them. When people saw him, they would first see the direct result of Harry's mistake.
"I'm so—"
They both turned at the sound of footsteps, and Draco's eyes widened. He gestured wildly at Harry's lap, where the cloak lay half visible. Harry made out Snape's low drawl first, and understood the urgency. Snape had seen firsthand how near death Draco had been. Like Hermione and Ron warned, Harry technically shouldn't have been near Draco.
He put on the cloak and pressed back against the wall, hopefully out of the way of anyone who might approach the bed. Right as the door opened, he thought to kick Draco's bag between his feet so it would also be hidden. Draco didn't need to explain how he had gotten back his things.
"Because they'll be gathered before dusk," McGruder said. "There's no time."
McGruder and Snape approached the bed, and Draco averted his gaze.
"Dittany on the scarring?" McGruder asked.
When he stepped within arm's reach of Harry, the scar on his head lit with pain. The surprise nearly resulted in a gasp, but he clenched his teeth, desperate not to give himself away. He knew this pain well. How many times had he felt it now? First year near Quirrell? Fourth in the graveyard? Fifth in the Ministry?
"As I said last night," Snape said. "Dittany will only lessen the scarring."
"I want it gone. You will do whatever that entails."
"The Malfoys can source the best in cosmetic healing. When he returns home, they will find someone."
McGruder flicked his wand. Whatever he had cast, Harry didn't notice.
Because he knew that bone-white wand.
He clenched his teeth harder, fighting back the pain and the panic. He couldn't react now. He couldn't give himself away.
But Thomas McGruder held Voldemort's wand.
Thomas McGruder had set off the pain in Harry's scar.
Thomas McGruder had been with Draco all year, leading him around the castle with a grip on his arm.
Harry's heart pulsed in his ears. He even felt it in his eyes. His gaze blurred, as if maintaining all his senses was too much in the wake of this revelation. For the second time in two days, his world was being torn open, unraveling through his helpless grip.
"I won't have people associating him with Harry Potter," Thomas, no, Voldemort, said. "I will not let the likes of Harry Potter make a claim on him."
"My lord," Snape said lowly, and Harry again struggled to keep still. Because Snape knew. Snape fucking knew. "Any efforts to heal him will take time."
"I don't have time, Severus. They will be gathering tonight."
"Certainly you don't need Draco for anything more this year."
"I will require him as I see fit," Voldemort said, and turned on Draco. Harry now saw that the salve had been vanished, and the full truth of the scarring revealing. The wounds were barely knitted closed, heavy, purple, and apparently his claim.
Voldemort leaned over Draco, who still didn't look at him. "You will be ready tonight when I come for you. Borgin has replied and confirmed. I will wait no longer."
Draco nodded, and neither Voldemort nor Snape attempted to make him speak.
Harry still couldn't get his vision to focus. Even if he could, he didn't know where to look. At Draco, who was doing all he could not to make eye contact with Voldemort? At Voldemort, who had already infiltrated Hogwarts without even Dumbledore's knowledge? At Snape, mid-betrayal?
"Where is Madam Pomfrey?" Voldemort said. "She should be here."
"She was down at breakfast," Snape said. "Aside from administering potions on a timed basis, her work is done."
"Look at him, Severus. When you look at him, do you see what is mine, or Potter's handiwork?"
Something worked in Snape's jaw. "I'll firecall Narcissa immediately. She can begin sourcing the best healer available."
The promise didn't appease Voldemort. He stormed from the room, taking the pain in Harry's scar with him. Snape remained, walking dangerously close to Harry when he went to grab a jar from the bedside table.
"Keep the salve applied," Snape said, and handed Draco the jar. "They cannot be healed, but they can certainly be improved. A heavy layer."
Draco took the jar. "Tonight?" he said in that forced whisper.
"Make sure Poppy gives you another dose of the blood replenisher. Something for the pain and something for energy."
Draco nodded. He uncapped the jar, and the strong scent of earth and spice came from it. Draco scooped out a heavy dollop, and ran it over the scar that traveled from beside his nose down to his jaw.
"Be careful today," Snape said, then left after Voldemort.
The door had hardly closed behind him before Harry threw off the cloak.
"It wasn't you."
The relief filling Draco's gaze hit Harry. The true secret was out, and Draco was free of the burden of it. Harry took the jar from Draco's shaking hand to apply the rest, eager for any outlet for his overpouring energy.
"He's been here all year?"
Draco closed his eyes.
"It was never you."
Harry's breath trembled as he ran his finger over the scarring, trying to reconcile all the events of the year with the truth he now recognized. Draco never would have left Quidditch if not forced. Draco had starved himself into hospital. Draco remembered the fight on the pitch and knew exactly what he needed to say to make Harry snap.
He wanted to be hurt.
He wanted out.
Harry set the jar aside and took Draco's face in his hands. Draco's eyes opened to find Harry leaning over him, close enough he could smell the sharp, herby scent of the dittany. His hands were sticky and his eyes glued to Draco's.
"I'm going to fix this," Harry said. "I swear. I'm so sorry you had to fight this alone."
The morning light caught the welling in Draco's eyes, red rimmed, but relieved. The laceration crossing between his eyes had skipped over the curve of his nose, as though he had been struck with an actual swinging blade. It was made all the more vivid by the light, so Harry leaned closer, enveloping Draco in his shadow.
Draco's lips parted. The staining became more evident, a deeper purple than the cuts.
Harry looked from Draco's mouth back to his waiting gaze, and let his thumb linger near the unmarred corner of Draco's lips.
To cut always. It encompassed their entire past and now connected them in a way too twisted for Harry to decipher. The always drifted between them like a slowly tightening knot.
"Could I?"
Then it was Draco's turn to flicker his gaze to Harry's mouth. When he looked back up, he nodded.
When their lips met, he tasted the dittany, warm and bitter. There was a lilt of risk on the touch, a moment stolen away under Voldemort's oppressive hand. Harry kept Draco's face secure under his touch, holding the face he'd scarred as he kissed the boy who'd possessed his thoughts for years. The shared truth between them teetered on fragility, and the kiss parted on an acknowledgment. Voldemort wanted Draco, tried to claim him. And perhaps for the first time in his life, Draco's choice ran contrary to the dark lord's will.
Draco's lower lip pulled a bit when Harry shifted back to look at him again. All these years of going out of his way to keep an eye on him, the constant awareness of each other, nothing told him as much as these last few minutes. Draco was marked by Harry and chose him despite it.
Cautiously, Draco brought his hand to rest over one of Harry's. His fingers were cold and light, and Harry's skin sparked where they connected.
"Do whatever Pomfrey says is needed to heal faster. I'll come back for you."
Consumed with the notion of taking Draco with him now, tucking him away safely somewhere Voldemort couldn't discover, Harry nearly gave into the impulse. But Draco could barely speak, so the damage to his throat must have been serious. Voldemort had said tonight. Draco could do so much healing before nightfall, but only if he stayed here.
"I brought your bag with me. Thought you might want your wand."
Harry moved away from Draco only long enough to take the wand from his bag, and then put it in Draco's hand, closing pale fingers around it. "You have time. Rest."
"You can't stop him," Draco said in that horrifically broken voice.
"Have some faith," Harry said, nodding as he moved back from the bed. "It'll be okay."
Pulling the cloak back on, Harry rushed to leave. If Dumbledore could do something to stop Voldemort, they would need time. It would take hours for word to get to the Order, and then additional time for everyone to arrive.
Voldemort was outnumbered for now. Despite Draco's beliefs, Voldemort was vulnerable for a time.
Harry kept an eye out for Snape and Voldemort as he jogged through the hallways. He ended up pulling off the cloak to move more quickly, thankfully the majority of Hogwarts' population was in a closed classroom.
If he had the Map, avoiding Snape and Voldemort would have been simple. He wouldn't have been left peeking around corners or peering up and down the stairs. With the empty hallways, seeing someone approaching would have been simple. If he only had the Map—
The realization stopped him cold, rocking him hard enough he had to brace himself with a hand on the wall.
Snape had taken the Map.
If he hadn't, Harry would have used it to track Draco, then seen Voldemort's name beside him. Snape knew to account for it. Maybe he had seen it during the occlumency lessons last year?
How he knew didn't matter. Harry began sprinting towards the Headmaster's office. If Dumbledore had been so wrong about Snape's loyalty, what other lies did the Order believe?
Shouting the password at the Gryffin didn't get the staircase to appear, and Harry kept shouting it until the stone eyes shifted to him, and the staircase spiraled down.
Dumbledore and McGonagall were in his office, and cast Harry a disappointed look.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, "You should be in class."
"Voldemort is in the castle," Harry said. "I just saw him."
"What do you mean?"
Harry came forwards until he could put his hands on Dumbledore's desk. "We thought Malfoy was behind it. He wasn't. It's Thomas McGruder. I just saw him using Voldemort's wand. My scar burned."
"You're certain?"
"Yes."
McGonagall stood. "If it's true, every student here is in danger."
"He said they were acting tonight. If they found a way to get the others into the school, we only have hours to stop it."
"Harry, where did you happen upon him?"
"In the infirmary."
Both McGonagall and Dumbledore shook their heads. "Harry," McGonagall said, "You can't be—"
"I know, I know. But if I hadn't gone to apologize we'd have no warning. Snape was with him."
"Severus wouldn't allow anything to risk the school."
"He was there. He called Thomas my lord."
Dumbledore paused to think for a moment, and Harry wanted to shout that they didn't have time for internal debate. Voldemort was in Hogwarts. Voldemort had a way to get his followers inside.
"Minerva, firecall Kingsley. We'll need everyone here as quickly as possible."
Dumbledore stood, his blackened hand grazing the corner of his desk. His shoulders sagged, like the weight of Harry's revelation had taken confidence from him. Dumbledore had insisted Snape could be trusted, but Harry had seen proof otherwise. Dumbledore hadn't known one of his students was actually the dark lord.
"Harry, you and I have an errand to run. There is no time to waste."
"Now?" Harry asked.
"Now is the only time. If we leave now, we can be back before he has opportunity to act."
McGonagall shook her head. "You Know Who is in the school, and you choose now to leave? The moment he learns he's been discovered, he'll begin threatening our students."
"Then you must ensure he won't. If Harry's information is correct, we only need to let him believe his ruse a while longer. Get the Order into the school without his knowledge. With Draco injured, he won't be able to risk deviating from schedule."
Harry nodded. Voldemort had spent the year hiding beside and behind Draco. Draco drew the attention and did the talking, keeping Harry from questioning anything about Thomas McGruder. If Voldemort tried anything now, there was nowhere to hide.
McGonagall pressed her lips together, but ended up nodding. "I'll summon them here immediately. Everyone who can make it in time."
"Inform any professors you are able to."
McGonagall left, and Dumbledore came around the desk to Harry. "You know where we must go today."
"I do."
"Should I give you any instruction, you will follow without question. If I tell you to run, you run. Should I tell you to leave me, you do without hesitation. Do you understand?"
"And we'll make it back in time?"
"If we make haste."