Shades of Red

Disclaimer: I, obviously, do not own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with the franchise whatsoever.

Author's note: This is only an experimental piece; I've never written anything besides essays before. As a matter of fact, I actually should have been working on an essay, but instead (you know how procrastination works), I wrote my own narrative of the Sectumsempra scene in HBP, inspired by the books Heart of Darkness and Lord of the Flies.

"Cruci —"

"SECTUMSEMPRA!"

A white flash burst from the tip of Harry's wand, impaling Malfoy in the chest.

For an instant, the Boy-Who-Lived savoured a glimmer of triumph, having able to interrupt what would have been an excruciating Cruciatus curse. That feeling quickly transformed into one of pure horror as Malfoy let out a single gasp and crumpled heavily onto the damp stone floor, unmoving. Even from a distance, Harry could already make out the splotches of crimson blossoming rapidly across Malfoy's white clothes.

All was silent in the bathroom, save for the erratic sputtering of water from the sinks and the deafening pounding in Harry's chest. Around him, shattered glass littered the cold ground. The room was eerily dim; its shadowy corners seemed to close in on him, akin to a predator to its prey: stalking him, constricting him, suffocating him. Harry stood frozen in place, afraid to survey the full extent of harm dealt by his own hand.

Deciding he had to do something, he approached cautiously at first, his breaths coming out shallow and quick; then, upon witnessing the scarlet streaks pool alarmingly, Harry hastened his steps until he stood adjacent to his unconscious adversary. He inhaled sharply at the close-up view, his green eyes fixed wide with terror.

"Oh, Merlin…" he breathed. What have I done?

The sight made Harry feel like expelling his last meal. His curse had sliced right through Malfoy's skin; several deep gashes ran diagonally across his torso, the largest of which stretching from his upper chest down to his lower abdomen. Harry's knees buckled precariously, and he collapsed beside the limp form. With fumbling hands, the bespectacled teenager pressed fervently against the gaping wounds in a desperate attempt to stanch the bleeding. He could still feel Malfoy's chest rise and fall, but the damage inflicted was staggering. Scarlet flowed freely between his fingers as the body twitched and convulsed beneath him.

"Help… help!" Harry screamed, his throat achingly dry. "Please; anyone! I…" I had no idea — I despise you, Malfoy… despise you for what you've done; but now, seeing what I've done — Bloody hell! He squeezed his eyes shut, yet the image of Malfoy's mutilated form had already ingrained itself behind his eyelids. I hadn't wanted to murder you!

Or had you? A small voice in the corner of his mind whispered mockingly.

Harry blanched. But just as that frightening thought manifested itself, he heard the familiar rustling of a cloak. A figure clad in long, black robes had emerged from the doorway. Harry jerked his head up, still keeping his hands firm against Malfoy's chest.

The man stood stock-still. Emerald eyes locked with obsidian, and Harry's pulse quickened tenfold. Damn… Of all the people…

After a moment, the professor strode briskly in their direction. While betraying no outward emotion, Snape's shadowed glare blazed with the heat of raging coals and fiery embers crackling violently underneath.

"Sir! The blood…" Harry blurted out. "It won't stop! I swear I didn't mean to —"

"Move, Potter!" Snape snarled, shoving Harry aside and kneeling beside Malfoy, his dark cloak spreading around him. Harry caught himself before his head could slam into the floor and scrambled to his feet. He stumbled blindly towards the nearest wall, his entire being quivering in shock of the destructive power behind the mysterious curse.

Harry's back grated painfully against the brick wall until he had sunk to the floor. Watching as Snape chanted under his breath, he strained to make out the countercurse but eventually gave up his efforts.

Snape stood up after a while and smoothed out his robe. Harry was astonished to see Malfoy's wounds meticulously sealed over, abating the blood flow that had painted the bathroom floor just minutes prior.

The professor pointed his wand downward. "Enervate."

In an instant, Malfoy heaved, blinking several times before finally focusing on the cloaked figure above him.

"Up, Draco," Snape instructed softly, concern etched in his features.

Malfoy winced and rotated his head sluggishly in Harry's direction. Curiously, his expression lacked the animosity Harry had expected to see. In those pained eyes revealed the fragments of a tormented soul, of a man trapped at the bottom of an abyss and had long since given up climbing out.

Malfoy dropped his gaze and turned his attention back to his Head-of-House. Snape placed Malfoy's arm over his shoulder, and the two proceeded to rise gingerly.

"I will assist you to the hospital wing," the professor told Malfoy. "Can you walk?"

He took a step forward and grimaced. "Hurts…"

"Try, then," came the firm reply.

Snape supported Malfoy across the bathroom, turning at the door to say in a voice of cold fury, "And you, Potter… you wait here for me."

It didn't occur to Harry for one second to disobey.

The door swung shut, leaving the raven-haired boy alone on the bloodied floor. Lost in his thoughts, Harry stared blankly at the wall across from him. He couldn't help but replay the encounter in his mind.

His wand outstretched, unwavering… the savage intent that had surged through his veins… a white flash… a green flash… a boy falling onto the stone floor… a man falling through the Veil… a woman falling to the ground —

He flinched violently, closing his eyes in sheer dread. "No…" he moaned.

My, my… Can you see it now, Potter?

Harry could almost hear Voldemort's jeering laugh pierce the air. He shuddered against the wall, weakly lifting his hands up to his face. Both palms were stained a nauseating shade of red.

We aren't so different after all…

In a sudden fit of hysteria, Harry scrubbed his hands frantically against his once-immaculate, grey sweater. His hands burned from the vicious friction, but in his frenzied state, he was too numb to feel it.

The blood stubbornly refused to come off.

It had been several minutes since the professor escorted Malfoy to the infirmary. Time seemed to lengthen interminably as Harry awaited his return in dread.

All of a sudden, the stillness was shattered as the bathroom door banged open on screaming hinges, jerking him out of his morbid stupor. Harry glanced up and shakily rose to his feet, keeping his back pressed hard against the cold wall.

Snape stormed into the room, his black cloak trailing ominously. Behind him, the door rattled as it rebounded loudly against the wall and slammed shut. Without interrupting his stride, the professor flicked his wand wordlessly, a lock clicking into place. He then grasped Harry's collar and yanked him upwards with a strength that nearly lifted him off his feet. Harry choked, feeling the blood drain from his face.

"Apparently I've underestimated you, Potter," Snape began, his voice set low in a deadly whisper. "Who would have thought that our sainted Golden Boy had, not only an inclination for the Dark Arts, but the nerve to use it against another student, nearly ending their life? How… inconceivable."

Harry stared at his feet. "Professor —"

"Silence!"

He winced.

"I am curious," he continued ruthlessly, "as to the kind of idiocy that possessed you to gain a hold of such a dangerous curse, let alone cast it without the slightest idea of what it did."

"It was an accident, sir, please!"

"You dare to excuse your impudence with 'an accident'?" Snape's eyes flickered dangerously. "It may have escaped your notice, but your accidents have a history of getting others killed!"

"Don't bring Sirius into this!" Harry cried.

The professor drew back and sneered. "Arrogant… reckless… maybe even more so than your blessed father, I daresay; and whether or not you intended to cause this much harm does not lessen the trouble you have dug yourself into. Now, where, pray tell, did you learn that spell?"

For a second, Harry forgot how to breathe.

"It was in a — a library book! But I can't remember what it was called —"

"Don't. lie… to me."

Forthwith came an unnerving tension that stretched taut in the atmosphere, waiting to snap. Still locked in Snape's iron grasp, Harry could feel his breaths heavy against his cheeks. The professor scrutinised the entirety of Harry's face, his narrowed eyes seeming to consume the very light surrounding it. They peered into his own with a frightening intensity…

Harry panicked, recognising what was happening. He tried to break eye-contact, tried to employ even the most woeful scraps of Occlumency that he could muster, but it was futile: the damage had already been done. The Half-Blood Prince's textbook swam hazily at the forefront of his mind.

Then, as swiftly as it came, the image vanished. Snape tilted his chin upwards and kept his onyx gaze fixed on the boy, his expression strangely inscrutable.

"Professor," Harry gulped. "Will he be okay?"

Snape stared at him a moment longer and released his collar. Harry stumbled backwards.

"With the exception of a memory that will scar him for the rest of his life, I believe he'll recover…"

Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"Nevertheless, this calls for a chat with the headmaster, don't you think?"

Before he could respond, the professor grasped Harry's wrist and turned sharply on his heel. Harry staggered as he was dragged forcibly across the seventh floor, trying to avoid the eyes of students who murmured as they passed by. It wasn't long before he realised that blood was still on his clothes.

Upon reaching the headmaster's office, Snape glared at the gargoyles and crossed his arms. "Acid pops," he said, his mouth twitching as though the words themselves tasted sour. The statues leapt aside.

They entered the staircase and waited as it spiralled upwards. When it finally came to a stop, they stepped into the ornate room, where Professor Dumbledore sat at his desk amidst piles of books. Fawkes sat on a perch beside him, trilling melodiously. After he had straightened stacked the last of his loose parchment, the headmaster looked up and smiled, his azure eyes crinkling behind half-mooned frames.

"What a pleasant surprise! Lemon drop?"

Snape scowled. "No, Headmaster. I wish to inform you that our one-and-only Harry Potter attacked Malfoy with a Dark curse. Had I not intervened, my Slytherin would have been dead by now."

Dumbledore steepled his hands, his twinkle noticeably subdued. "Is that so?"

"Yes. He is in the infirmary at this very moment. As such, this boy will be receiving detention from me for the rest of the term."

Harry glanced sharply at Snape. "What?"

"Yes, Mister Potter," he drawled. "You heard correctly. That also means you won't be attending any of your Quidditch events either. What a shame…"

"That is enough, Severus," Dumbledore admonished. "If you would, I'd like to discuss a few things with Harry…"

Snape inclined his head. "I will be in my office. Ten o'clock Saturday morning, Potter. Do not be late." He gave one last glare in Harry's direction and spun around, his cloak billowing behind him.

The headmaster watched him depart, then turned his attention back to Harry. "Now then; do tell me what happened today."

Harry looked down, his face burning in shame. "I…"

There's no use in denying it. I deserve the consequences…

He took a deep breath. "I saw Malfoy's crying in the bathroom for some reason — it was a shock, really — then he suddenly took his wand out and, uh, we began firing at each other… I think he was about to Crucio me, but I was able to cast another spell first… Then Malfoy went unconscious, and Snape — "

"Professor, Snape."

"— came and performed the countercurse on him. When he finished, he took Malfoy to the hospital wing and brought me here…" he trailed off.

"What was this spell you said?"

Harry put his face into his hands. "Sectumsempra," he said softly.

"Sectumsempra…" The headmaster furrowed his eyebrows. "The name sure rings a bell…"

"Sir? Aren't familiar with it?"

He thought for a moment, then frowned. "I haven't heard that spell in a long time. How did it harm Draco?"

"It was… bloody… like he'd been slashed by an invisible sword…"

In these moments the professor's solemn eyes were no longer the serene blue of the skies, but rather the darker hues of the sea, intense and deep. "Oh, dear…"

"Professor," Harry rasped, "I really didn't mean to hurt him like that. I'm sorry!"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Your apology belongs to someone else, I'm afraid." He rested his arms on the table and leant forward. "Listen well, Harry… Dark Magic is not to be meddled with. Not only is it destructive to those it is cast upon, but also to the casters themselves. Their repeated use can corrupt the mind, poison the heart… Even Draco did not deserve to be cursed in that way, and, yes — I am well aware of the ongoing hostility between you two. Nevertheless, I sense that you are in anguish, are you not?"

Harry swallowed. "I-I am, sir."

Dumbledore's face softened. "Do not be afraid of your remorse, dear boy. The fact that you retain the capacity for such emotions even in the face of your enmity, of the knowledge that he'd struck first, of the knowledge that he'd almost used an Unforgivable on you — that is a testament to your unwavering humanity, the flicker of a candle in an enduring darkness. Indeed, it may one day prove to be your strongest asset…"

Thank you for reading!