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Harry returned to the boys' bathroom that night with the help of his invisibility cloak. He opened the door and stepped in, the soles of his shoes once again dirtied by blood. Blood that he spilled. Blood that was there by his hand.

Malfoy's blood.

He didn't know why Filch hadn't cleaned it yet. Perhaps he knew Harry would come back here and wanted to torture him with evidence of his misdeed. Or perhaps Filch was simply horrified by Harry's actions as much as Dumbledore was.

He had let his obsession consume him and his trust in the Prince guide him down this road. As he stared down at the blood stained floor, Harry relived the moment for the hundredth time that night.

He saw Malfoy crying in the mirror. They locked eyes and Harry was filled with a familiar mixed emotion. He was torn between hate and the overwhelming urge to comfort Draco Malfoy. Before he could give in to the latter, he attacked.

The rest was a blur. After that, all he remembered was staring in horror at the pale body sprawled in crimson beneath him.

Malfoy would be okay though, right? He had to be. For Harry's sake.

"My God… What did he do to you?"

Draco lay in the Hospital wing covered in bandages. He had already taken three different types of potions, been subjected to five different types of spells, and now had to lie in his bed, still wrapped in bandages, and having to listen to the incessant ramblings of Pansy Parkinson.

"It's nothing Pansy. For the thousandth time. I. Am. Fine. Now leave me to heal in peace."

"Draco, I knew he hated you but this is dark magic. What did you do to the filthy little muggle-lover to make him want to kill you?" Pansy took a sharp breath. "Does he know that you ar-"

"PANSY. LEAVE. NOW. I have enough to deal with without having to put up with your idiotic theories. Potter hit me with the spell simply because Potter hates me and has always hated me and if he hadn't caught me off guard and cornered, it would be Potter in here, not me. And I assure you, he would not be faring as well as I. Now leave me."

"But, Drac-"

"That was not a request."

"Fine. Stay here. Sulk. Do whatever the fuck you want." And with that she stormed out, receiving a sharp glare from Madam Pomfrey in the process.

Draco lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, no longer in the present but back in his first day at Hogwarts when he had offered Harry Potter his hand.

Though he knew it was wrong to let his obsession keep growing, though he was afraid of hurting Malfoy again, Harry could not live with the guilt and so he snuck into the Hospital wing the third night after the incident and watched him sleep from under the cloak.

Draco Malfoy lay before Harry looking as though he had gone through no more than a simple Quidditch injury. He only had bandages left on his chest and the rest of him looked as healthy as ever. As he watched, Harry noticed how elegant Malfoy looked, even in sleep. How unbelievably beautiful his skin was and how his hair shown under the moonli-

NO.

Harry scrambled to leave and in his haste, tripped over a small pile of get-well gifts at the foot of Malfoy's bed, stumbled, and crashed into the ground. He groaned and rubbed his backside. Why the hell had he come here? Swearing, he lifted himself up from the floor only to freeze in place, still not fully standing, hunched over, and with his hand still on his backside.

"Come to finish the job, Potter?"

Harry was frozen in panic. His cloak lay forgotten on the floor.

"Or perhaps you thought you would taunt me? Yes, let me go visit the little Malfoy boy half naked so he can see how completely spotless my body is. How free of bandages it is."

Harry's panic increased as he realized he was standing in the middle of the hospital wing wearing nothing but his shorts.

Draco glared in disgust, his gaze burning into the tan skin.

"Or maybe all you wanted was another rush, Potter. Did nearly killing me get you high? Is that what you like? Quidditch doesn't do it for you anymore? Do you like to leave people bleeding on the floor only to stalk them and again la-"

"No." Harry picked up his cloak and wrapped it around himself so that only a floating head was left. "No, I… I came because… I just." He swallowed. "Er…Are you alright?" What a stupid thing to say. Why did he say that?

"Obviously I am. Now take your killer's remorse and leave me. I'm quite tired from regrowing large portions of my internal organs."

Harry gaped. "What?"

"What part of nearly dead do you not understand, you filthy little inbred! Now get the fuck away from my bed or I swear I will kill you, injured or not!"

"Look, Malfoy," Harry spat the name, "I came to check up on you, not fight with you but if you want I can finish the job."

"THEN DO IT! BLOODY KILL ME ALREADY POTTER! KILL ME! GO AHEAD! NOBODY IS GOING TO MISS ME! WHAT'S ONE MORE DEATHEATER DEAD? IF ANYTHING THEY WILL CELEBRATE YOU! KILL ME. KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME!"

And so Harry ran. He threw his cloak on and ran to Gryffindor tower, scared that he would follow through with his threat and then he would be just as bad as Voldemort.