Harry Potter and the Resurrection Veil

Sectumsempra

Harry Potter pushed open the door to the girls' lavatory.

Seemingly unaware anyone had entered, Malfoy stood in front of one of the lavatory mirrors, gripping the sink to steady himself.

"Don't. Don't . . . Tell me what's wrong . . . I can help you . . ."

Moaning Myrtle? Though she was out of Harry's view, he heard her voice gently drifting through one of the stalls.

Malfoy shook his head. "No one can help me. I can't do it. I can't. It won't work . . . and unless I do it soon . . . he says he'll kill me . . ."

Shock cut through Harry. Malfoy was crying—actually crying—tears streaming down his face into the sink. It wasn't for show, it was different from what he'd seen before. So the boy Myrtle mentioned she had been talking to must have meant . . . As though the realization struck him too, Malfoy took a shuddering breath, then looked up into the splintered mirror to see Harry staring at him.

Malfoy spun around, drawing his wand. Instinctively, Harry pulled out his own. Malfoy's hex missed Harry by a hair, shattering the lamp on the wall beside him. Harry lurched sideways, thought Levicorpus! and flicked his wand, but Malfoy blocked the jinx and raised his wand to cast another—

"No! No! Stop it!" Moaning Myrtle's pleas echoed loudly around the tiled room. "Stop! Stop!"

There was a loud bang and the bin behind Harry exploded. Harry preferred not to injure Malfoy if he could help it; he attempted a Leg-Locker Curse that backfired off the wall behind Malfoy's ear, shattering the cistern beneath Moaning Myrtle, who screamed loudly. Water poured everywhere, causing Harry to slip and fall to the floor as Malfoy, face contorted, cried, "Cruci—"

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" bellowed Harry from the floor.

Blood spurted from Malfoy's face and chest as though Harry had slashed him with a sword. He staggered backward, collapsing onto the waterlogged floor with a splash that nearly concealed a sickening thud, his wand falling from his limp right hand.

"No—" gasped Harry. Struggling to keep his balance on the slick tile, he got to his feet and rushed to Malfoy, whose hands reached clumsily toward the gashes through his shirt, face shining as red as the blood that streamed from his chest. "No—I didn't—" Harry's mouth went numb, a high-pitched sound filled his ears, and he fell to his knees beside Malfoy, who shook uncontrollably as the blood spread through the water around them like flames. Remorse was instantaneous, and all Harry could think was: I didn't mean to. I never wanted this to happen. How could the Prince . . . Why would he . . . Why would I . . . ?

Moaning Myrtle let out a deafening scream. "MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!"

The door burst open behind Harry and he looked up, terrified. Snape, his face livid, had run into the room. Pushing Harry roughly aside, he knelt over Malfoy, then drew his wand and traced it over the deep cuts in Malfoy's flesh, muttering an incantation that sounded almost like song. The flow of blood eased; Snape wiped the residue from Malfoy's face and repeated his spell, closing the wounds.

Harry couldn't tear his eyes away, horrified by what he had done, barely aware of Moaning Myrtle's wails above them, nor the blood and water that had soaked through his clothes.

Once Snape had performed his countercurse for the third time, he helped Malfoy into a standing position, though the boy was barely conscious. "You need the hospital wing. There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany immediately we might avoid even that. Come . . ." He supported Malfoy across the bathroom, turning at the door to say, icy rage barely contained, "And you, Potter—you wait here for me."