Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures - H.P.S.T Chapter 1476: Half-Blood Prince

The curse flew out and missed Malfoy, but backfired off the wall behind Malfoy’s ear and smashed the cistern beneath Moaning Myrtle, who screamed loudly; water poured everywhere and Harry slipped as Malfoy, his face contorted, cried, “Cruci —”

“SECTUMSEMPRA!” bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly.

A flash of white light streaked through the air. Blood spurted from Malfoy’s face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand.

“No —” Harry gasped in shock, looking at Malfoy in disbelief, his mind blank.

What had he done? Ma — Malfoy…

Slipping and staggering, Harry got to his feet and plunged toward Malfoy, whose face was now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest.

“No — I didn’t —”

Harry, with a sudden rush of regret, didn’t know what he was saying; he fell to his knees beside Malfoy, who was shaking uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood, and seemed to want to say something, but he had no strength at all, life was draining from him. Moaning Myrtle let out a deafening scream: “MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!”

“Don’t, don’t scream…”

Bang!

The door banged open behind Harry and he looked up, terrified: Snape had burst into the room, his face livid.

Pushing Harry roughly aside, he knelt over Malfoy, drew his wand, and traced it over the deep wounds Harry’s curse had made, muttering an incantation that sounded almost like song. The flow of blood seemed to ease; Snape wiped the residue from Malfoy’s face and repeated his spell. Now the wounds seemed to be knitting.

Harry was still watching, horrified by what he had done, barely aware that he too was soaked in blood and water. Moaning Myrtle was still sobbing and wailing overhead.

When Snape had performed his countercurse for the third time, he half-lifted Malfoy into a standing position.

“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 in a voice of cold fury, “And you, Potter … You wait here for me.”

It did not occur to Harry for a second to disobey. He stood up slowly, shaking, and looked down at the wet floor. There were bloodstains floating like crimson flowers across its surface. He could not even find it in himself to tell Moaning Myrtle to be quiet, as she continued to wail and sob with increasingly evident enjoyment.

The feeling of loss slowly returned to Harry’s body, and he realized what he had done, the spell he had used on Malfoy.

Sectumsempra. So this was what that curse did.

A few weeks ago, Evan had warned him not to use that spell lightly on other students. Harry had never imagined…

He had never thought that Sectumsempra would be so powerful, that it was Dark Magic!

Would Malfoy be okay? What was he supposed to do now?

Before Harry could think it through, Snape returned. He stepped into the bathroom with a gloomy face and closed the door behind him.

“Go,” he said to Myrtle, and she swooped back into her toilet at once, leaving a ringing silence behind her.

“I didn’t mean it to happen,” said Harry at once. His voice echoed in the cold, watery space. “I didn’t know what that spell did. Evan warned me, but I never thought —”

But Snape ignored this, narrowing his eyes and scrutinizing Harry intently.

“Apparently I underestimated you, Potter,” he said quietly. “Who would have thought you knew such Dark Magic? Who taught you that spell? Evan Mason?”

“No, not him, I — read about it somewhere.”

“Where?”

“It was — a library book,” Harry invented wildly. “I can’t remember what it was call —”

“Liar,” said Snape flatly. Harry’s throat went dry. He knew what Snape was going to do and he had never been able to prevent it. …

In an instant, the bathroom seemed to shimmer before his eyes. Snape was invading his mind. He struggled to block out all thought, but try as he might, the Half-Blood Prince’s copy of Advanced Potion-Making swam hazily to the forefront of his mind…

And then he was staring at Snape again, in the midst of this wrecked, soaked bathroom.

He stared into those unfathomable black eyes, hoping against hope that Snape had not seen what he feared, but —

“Bring me your schoolbag,” said Snape softly, “and all of your schoolbooks. All of them. Bring them to me here. Now!”

There was no point arguing. Harry turned at once and splashed out of the bathroom. Once in the corridor, he broke into a run toward Gryffindor Tower. Most people were walking the other way; they gaped at him, drenched in water and blood, but he answered none of the questions fired at him as he ran past.

To be honest, he felt stunned; it was as though a beloved pet had turned suddenly savage; what had the Prince been thinking to copy such a spell into his book? And what would happen when Snape saw it? Would he tell Slughorn — Harry’s stomach churned — how Harry had been achieving such good results in Potions all year? Would he confiscate or destroy the book that had taught Harry so much … the book that had become a kind of guide and friend? Harry could not let it happen. … He could not …

He had to do something, he had to hide the book.

“Blimey, Harry, where have you — ? Why are you soaking — ? Is that blood?”

Ron was standing at the top of the stairs, looking bewildered at the sight of Harry. He had just come out of the boys’ bathroom after vomiting.

“I need your book,” Harry panted. “Your Potions book. Quick … give it to me …”

“But what about the Half-Blood —”

“I’ll explain later! No time!”

Ron pulled his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and handed it over; Harry sprinted off past him and back to the common room. Here, he seized his schoolbag, ignoring the amazed looks of several people who had already finished their dinner, threw himself back out of the portrait hole, and hurtled off along the seventh-floor corridor.

He skidded to a halt beside the tapestry of dancing trolls, closed his eyes, and began to walk.

I need a place to hide my book. … I need a place to hide my book. … I need a place to hide my book. …

Three times he walked up and down in front of the stretch of blank wall. When he opened his eyes, there it was at last: the door to the Room of Requirement. Harry wrenched it open, flung himself inside, and slammed it shut. What appeared before him was…

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