The sound of Harry's heartbeat was like the galloping of great hooves against his eardrums. His heart was beating so thunderously he feared it might burst and leave him retching up its contents over the already blood soaked floor. He stood huddled against the wall of the boy's bathroom, trembling uncontrollably with a mix of adrenaline and the spray of icy water still flowing from the ruined taps.
He had not meant to do what he did. No matter their long history of distaste for one another or Harry's present suspicions of the other boy's involvement in the several near-fatal incidents that had taken place over the course of the school year, it had never once crossed his mind that he should, or even could, hurt Draco the way that he just had.
Gulping down a huge breath of iron-scented air in a vain attempt to steady himself, Harry allowed his eyes to sweep along the length of the wrecked room and linger upon the gruesome evidence of the curse he had unwittingly cast. There was so much blood. It had splattered across Harry's face and robes, painted the mirrors above the nearby sinks and was now creating lazy spirals in the ankle deep water in which Draco had lain mere minutes before.
Thank Merlin. He stifled a sob. Thank Merlin, that Snape had showed up almost immediately and saved him from becoming a–
"Murderer!" Myrtle wailed, a finger pointed accusingly towards him as she hovered by the door of the nearest stall. "Y-you t-tried to kill him! I saw the look in your eyes when you did it."
This proclamation was accompanied closely by more screaming and a fresh torrent of pearl-white tears from the young ghost, but Harry could plainly see a smirk play across her lips before she buried her face in her hands.
A cold flush of terror ran through Harry's body at her words, raising goose pimples along his skin. His response was low and tremulous:
"I didn't know…I didn't mean to."
Myrtle quit crying immediately, her hands falling to her sides as she rounded upon Harry, a cloying look in her eye. "That's right." She giggled then, just as she did two years ago when Harry had sat before her naked in the prefect's bathroom, struggling with what to make of a screaming golden egg. "But, for a second there, you looked mighty impressed with yourself."
Before Harry had a chance to answer, the door to the bathroom banged open and Snape stumped into the room, back from dropping Draco off at the hospital wing. He barely disturbed the water as he moved, the hem of his normally billowing black robes sweeping along the surface like a deadly serpent. As if on cue, Myrtle began to wail again. Snape did not break his stride, but waved one hand at her dismissively. "Go."
Myrtle turned briefly to Harry, and he thought he saw her wink before she floated through the open door of the closest toilet stall and rammed herself into the s-bend.
Snape walked him down, stopping only when he was close enough that Harry had to tilt his head up to meet his eyes and could feel the warm heat of fury that seemed to be rolling off of the man like a mist. Harry had not seen the professor this angry with him since he had sneaked a look at his boyhood memories in the Pensieve. Every line on Snape's face seemed to be stretched taut with hatred. Even his skin, usually quite lifeless and sallow, was flushed with color. Snape raised his hand and Harry flinched hard, thinking for one fleeting moment that the man would strike him, only to watch with great relief as he ultimately ran his fingers through his dark curtain of hair, unsticking the soaked strands from around his face.
A heavy silence fell over them, in which Harry scrambled to find the right words to express how deeply sorry he was for what he had done. He knew, of course, that there was nothing he could say that could properly express what he was feeling and absolutely nothing that would satisfy this man who loathed him so completely.
"I underestimated you, Potter. Using Dark Magic against a classmate? Who taught you that spell?"
"I-I must have read it in a book somewhere in the library, but I swear I didn't know what it did. I would never have used it if I had known, and I know you don't believe me, but I couldn't be more sorry. I can't remember where I read it, but somehow it jumped to the top of my mind and I swear. I swear, I didn't mean to." The words tumbled out of him, the sincere apologies intermingling with the overt untruths.
When Snape narrowed his eyes, Harry knew immediately that he saw straight through him.
"Legilimens!" Snape roared, his wand snapping up right underneath Harry's chin. Harry stumbled backwards into the wall and his vision began to grow hazy as the contents of his unguarded mind swam to the surface.
Harry saw the moment that he slashed Draco open with the Sectumsempra and his own pause of awe as he watched the boy start to drown in his own blood. Suddenly as it had come, the thought of Draco's ravaged body had faded, and the image of the Half-Blood Prince's copy of Advanced Potion Making appeared, clear as day, before melting away into the recesses of his mind.
The spell left him gasping and panting. His insides were doing somersaults. He had seen it. Exactly what Myrtle had seen–that split second of wonderment at what he had done to Draco. Unable to stop himself, he doubled over and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor.
"Bring me your schoolbooks. Now," said Snape, his tone dangerous.
Without so much as a glance at the professor, Harry flew from the bathroom and out into the corridor, his whole body singing with panic. He ran through the halls at top speed, wiping the blood from his glasses as he went and ignoring all questions and shrieks of alarm from his fellow students. When he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, he stopped abruptly, drawing sharp, ragged breaths.
"Oh dear!" cried the Fat Lady. "What's happened to you?" But Harry had barely heard her. In his flight through the castle, a thought had formed.
"I cannot let Snape confiscate that book."
He had no idea where it came from. If Harry was being honest with himself, he felt a bit fearful of the textbook that had guided him all these long months. He knew that he should turn the book over to let it be examined, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. That book had helped him countless times in Potions class and had even saved Ron's life. Despite what had just transpired, he couldn't believe the book was inherently bad. It wasn't like the Half Blood prince (whoever he was) had recommended the use of the curse; more likely it was something that he himself had heard somewhere and simply jotted down. On the whole, the benefits it had given him were outweighed by the bad….and Draco was fine, after all. "And," he heard echoing from some dark corner of his mind. "It would be such a shame to never find out what other spells are hidden away in there."
With a fully formed plan now at hand, Harry straightened his damp robes, composed himself as much as possible and gave the Fat Lady the password. By an almost absurd stroke of luck, the common room was completely empty save for Ron, Hermione and Ginny, who were bent over a game of Exploding Snap. They looked up as he entered, and jumped out of their seats, thunderstruck at his disheveled appearance.
"Harry…" Hermione gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in alarm. "Is that blood?!"
"Yes, yes" Harry breathed desperately. "But I'm not hurt. I promise to explain everything to you as soon as possible but right now I need your help." He looked around anxiously at the stricken faces of his friends, knowing that he had very little time before Snape came looking for him.
For a while, no one spoke, but then Ginny took a step forward, her hand outstretched as if she couldn't decide whether it was safe to touch him. "Of course," she said. "Tell us what you need."
In less than ten minutes, Harry had switched the covers of the Half-Blood Prince's copy of Advanced Potion Making with Ron's, opened the Room of Requirement, stashed his book in a cupboard which he marked with an old bust of a warlock wearing a wig and tiara, and made it back to the bathroom with his school bag where Snape stood waiting for him. Harry handed over the bag.
Snape extracted the newly rebound copy of Advanced Potion Making and began to flip through it. After a beat, he snapped it shut again.
"Is this your copy of Advanced Potion Making, Potter?" Snape asked stiffly.
"Yes, Sir," Harry said immediately. Snape threw him a dark glance before letting the book drop to the floor and into the murky water that still covered it.
"You're a liar."
"What makes you say that?" Harry asked, pulling himself up defiantly. "What exactly are you accusing me of?"
"Of being arrogant and foolhardy as usual!" Snape snarled furiously. "Detention. Every Saturday morning until the end of the term!"
Harry's heart sank. "But Professor…I have Quidditch."
"Not any more you don't" Snape said, already stalking out of the room. "10:00 a.m. in my office. Do. Not. Be. Late."
Harry managed to turn into bed early that night only after repeatedly promising that he would recount the day's entire ordeal to Ron, Hermione and Ginny first thing the next morning. Finally and blissfully dry and clean of blood, he pulled the curtains of his four poster tight, needing to be alone with his thoughts after one of the most mentally trying days he'd ever experienced since coming to Hogwarts.
He was truly sorry about what he had done to Draco. He should have known better than to use an untested incantation on anyone, even his worst enemy, and was still reeling at the memory of seeing Draco's skin tear open along the path of his wand. There had been a moment when he considered making his way down to the hospital wing to check on him, but quickly remembered that he'd barely avoided Draco's attempt to torture him with the Cruciatus.
At this point, the thing that was actually bothering Harry was not what he had done, but rather, how it had made him feel.
"Amazing", Harry said softly to the covered canopy of his bed. Wandless, he raised his hand and began to mimic the motion he had made as he cast the Sectumsempra, trying to relive the indescribably heady feeling that had zipped through his very veins as the magic discharged from his body. He couldn't recall many other times that doing magic had made his body thrum the way it had tonight. Maybe in his first year, when the wizarding world and everything in it was still so fresh and new. Maybe when things weren't so damn complicated.
His skin prickled almost uncomfortably as he continued his idle hand motion. It was as if his body was begging him to perform the curse again, and frankly, he wanted to. In a way, he felt proud of himself for perfectly performing a somewhat complicated curse on the first try and in the heat of battle, no less. The curse had made him feel powerfully connected to his wizardry in a way that he hadn't quite felt before. This, he thought, is what doing magic is supposed to feel like.
But as the full awareness of the train of his thoughts hit him, Snape's voice exploded suddenly into his mind.
"Using Dark Magic against a classmate?!"
Harry's arm fell lifelessly onto the bed. A wave of guilt hit him in the gut like a fist. What had he just been thinking? He had almost murdered Draco this afternoon and here he was basking in the afterglow of how right it felt to rip him open. He felt suddenly nauseous. This wasn't him. No, something must be very wrong.
Harry curled onto his side, pawing at his scar as if he could somehow wipe it away. After the battle at the Ministry of Magic last year he had thought that Voldemort had stopped messing with his mind, but he must be mistaken if he was feeling like this now. But then, why wasn't there any pain? Unable to make any sense of his own emotions, Harry drifted off into a fitful sleep.
That night, Harry dreamed that he was standing in the middle of a torch-lit stone dungeon, completely empty save for himself and a very scornful looking Draco Malfoy, who was on his knees at Harry's feet. Feeling uncharacteristically giddy, Harry smiled down at Draco, and placed the tip of his wand neatly into the little indent just behind Draco's left ear.
"Are you going to tell me where you've been disappearing to and what you've been trying to mend?" Harry asked.
Draco narrowed his pale eyes at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Potter."
Unfazed, Harry smiled even wider and tapped the point of his wand against Malfoy's neck playfully. "Come off it, mate. I know that you're working with the Death Eaters. You are a Death Eater."
It was Malfoy's turn to smile. "You can't prove it."
"No, I can't," said Harry airily. "But I'm sure that I'm right. I saw you falling to pieces in that bathroom. You're worried sick that you'll fail at whatever Voldemort is trying to have you do. Wouldn't it be better to just accept a stint in Azkaban rather than risk him killing you and the rest of your family?"
Draco shot Harry a hateful glance, but there was an unmistakable hint of fear creeping into his eyes. "I went to visit my father there over the summer. I would rather die than get sent there" he said darkly.
A long silence passed between them. Neither seemed inclined to argue over the matter any further. After a while, Harry shrugged lightheartedly. "So be it then."
Before Draco could retort or even react, Harry murmured a hasty 'Sectumsempra' and slit his throat from ear to ear. Draco collapsed sideways onto the floor, his life essence draining from him in sickening spurts. Harry watched with a growing sense of excitement as his blood ran in rivulets between the stones on the cobbled floor. With great effort, the boy clamped both hands over the wound in a fruitless attempt to stymie the relentless flow. Realizing that it was no use, he looked up at Harry, pupils blown wide with a mix of surprise and terror.
Harry had felt it again, almost as strong as the last time. The use of the curse had sent a rush of delicious power soaring through every part of his body, leaving his skin buzzing and his head swimming in its wake. He gazed upon Malfoy's twitching body only passively. Rather, it was the unburdening of his own magic that fueled his rapidly growing erection.
Without really realizing what he was doing, Harry ran his wand free hand down the side of his neck and moaned lasciviously as every nerve ending lit up along its path. His wand hand came to rest gently over the bulge in his pants, the featherlight touch threatening to undo him.
A third and fourth hand joined in, and Harry felt someone wrap their arms around him from behind. He melted into the embrace, whimpering slightly as the hands ran across the flat plane of his abdomen teasingly, stopping just at the waistband of his pants. Tipping his head back comfortably onto the person's shoulder, he realized without surprise that he was looking into the handsome face of Tom Riddle.
Tom was as regal as Harry remembered from their brief encounter in the Chamber of Secrets. He was looking down at Harry with such molten heat, Harry thought he was lucky to not have been set ablaze. Pressing more firmly against the taller boy's chest, Harry raised onto his tip toes in an attempt to drive those strong hands lower.
Tom's chuckle was husky and erotic in his ear. "Did that feel good?" It was all Harry could do to nod as Tom ran one long finger up the zipper of his pants. He was overstimulated in the best way possible and very close to begging.
Some tiny, far away part of him knew that he should be scared, or at the very least, disgusted. This was the man who murdered his parents. It was his fault that Sirius was dead. He was destined to kill this man, yet here he was grinding into him like a cat in heat, his wand held limp and forgotten in his hand.
There was a loud wheezing and gurgling sound coming from the floor. Harry looked down through heavily lidded eyes to see that the form of Snape now lay where Draco had been. The professor looked at him through dim eyes.
'Who taught you that spell?'
Harry smiled stupidly, as he watched the last bit of life drain out of Snape's body. He gripped Tom's hand where it rested upon his lower belly and pushed it fully into his pants, screaming unabashedly when the boy's fingers wrapped around him tightly.
Tom nipped the shell of Harry's ear as he ran his hand down the length of him.
"Would you like to learn more? I can teach you."
"Yes…"