Permanent Scars

Chapter eight

Harry moved quickly down the hall towards the dungeons. He looked again on the map, and could see the dot labelled "Draco Malfoy" was in a room down the corridor and to the right.

As he got closer to the room, he was feeling a lot of stress and anxiety. He was so afraid of how Malfoy would react to seeing him, and how he would react to the apology. The accident was the one thing Harry had done that he truly regretted, and he felt like he just had to make it right somehow.

Harry checked the map again, and he could see the room Malfoy was in was the door just to his right.

He folded up the map and put it away, then turned the knob on the heavy, ebony door, praying that it wasn't locked. The heavy door swung easily on its hinges.

Harry entered the room.

At first he didn't see Draco. He thought the room was empty. Then he noticed as he walked through the door that his shoes were sticking to the floor. Harry looked down and could see some dark substance pooled on the stone floor. Harry walked further into the room and, to his horror, found Draco lying in a pool of blood.

Harry was paralysed; he didn't know what to do. He stood there, his thoughts running a hundred miles a minute. Should he try to find a teacher? Go get Madam Pomfrey?

Harry ran back to the door, opened it and looked down the hallway. It was empty.

He went back in. He was terrified. Draco needed help now, or he would die! It would take too long to use Mobilicorpus; Harry didn't want to risk it.

He thought and thought.

Finally he decided what he would do.

He concentrated. This had to work. Harry held out his hand. "Accio Firebolt!" he shouted in desperation.

After a few seconds he could hear the Firebolt whizzing down the corridor.

The Firebolt flew through the open door, and into Harry's waiting hand.

Harry went to Draco, lifting him gently. He positioned himself and Draco on the broom, cradling Draco in his arms, and as fast as he could he raced out the door, through the corridor and up the stairs towards the infirmary.

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Harry came bursting through the infirmary doors, carrying Draco's limp form.

"Madam Pomfrey! Draco's been hurt!" Harry shouted hysterically.

"What's all this shouting, Mister Potter?" Madam Pomfrey asked as she came into the room. Then she saw Harry, covered in blood, with Draco in his arms.

"Draco, he's been hurt!" Harry exclaimed.

"Bring him over to the bed, quickly, Mister Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, as she rushed to pull back the bed covers for him.

Harry carried Draco to the bed and laid him on it as gently as he could.

Madam Pomfrey immediately spotted the slashes on Draco's wrists. "Suicde attempt." She gasped. As she healed his wounds, her face looked sad and dark.

Harry felt his knees buckle. He had to hold on to the railings of the bed to prevent himself from falling on the floor. Guilt was overwhelming him. If he had only spotted Malfoy earlier, if he had only been more careful in Potions, maybe this would have never happened.

"Is he going to be okay?" Harry asked, desperate to be reassured.

"He's lost a lot of blood. He is lucky you found him when you did. As it is, he has about a fifty/fifty chance of recovery," Madam Pomfrey said sorrowfully.

Harry, feeling overwhelmed by what had happened, what he had seen, and with a crushing sense of guilt, lay his forehead against Malfoy's bed and cried.