A/N not really a Drarry thing but f'ing iconic
Harry's POV
I hurry after Draco into the bathroom. I never thought of him as the nicest wizard but the concept of him trying to purposely kill someone... it had never occurred to me.
I thread my way tentatively closer to him. He's leaning over a sink, his platinum blonde hair covering his eyes. I notice his knuckles turning whiter than the rest of his pale skin on the side of the sink.
I can hear his unsteady breathing echo around the room and I think I even see a tear run down his face in the reflection of the mirror.
It's so odd. To see Draco Malfoy's walls crumble down. To see his weakness. The sensitive being that was locked away in a shell of hate. (a/n I'm a poet. Fite me)
I raise my hand slightly, as if to tap him on the shoulder, but decide against it and lower my hand.
I give a small cough. "Draco?"
His head snaps up and without seeing who had spoken, he whirls around, mid-expelliarmus.
I move out of the way of his spell and a door behind me flies off it's hinges.
Draco looks into my face and a quick look of shock travels across his features, which he desperately conceals.
I don't know what to say. Draco knows that I witnessed his secret weak side. And he looks terrified. I can only imagine what is going through his head.
He gives me a small idea of the conflict in his brain when he fires a "crucio" at me.
I'm almost to shocked to repel the curse.
He wants to hurt me.
I quickly cast the first spell that comes into my head.
"SECTUM SEMPRA!"
Time slows after I utter those words. I remember a day in Year One when Professor Quirell was warning us of the dangers of unknown spells. I imagine all the possible outcomes. Will I be the murderer of Draco Malfoy? Is it just a hex? Will I turn him into a ferret? Will it have no effect at all?
My questions are answered when Draco is blown back a few feet and falls to the ground, limp and motionless.
Panic rises in my stomach.
"Draco?" I ask, not for the first time.
No answer.
I step closer then notice red stains spreading across Draco's shirt. And a pool of blood blossoming around him. I watch in horror as the white hair on his head is replaced with blood.
I step forward a step and then back away two.
What do I do?
I watch to cry for help. I want to run to Draco. I want the floor to help me.
My prayers are answered when Snape waltzes in like the shadow of a ballroom dancer.
He picks up Draco's limp form with no ease.
Snape shoots me a look of disgust before hurrying out, leaving me staring at Draco's blood.
Guilt quickly replaces my horror when I'm hit with what I have just done.
