The pain is instant and unbearable. You don’t even register the spell—just the sensation of your skin splitting open, your body erupting in agony. You hit the cold tile floor hard, blood blooming beneath you like ink in water. You try to scream, but it comes out as a broken sob, your voice shredded by pain. You can’t move. You can’t breathe properly. You’re drowning in it.

You hear Harry’s footsteps skidding, then his voice—panicked, cracking.

Harry: “Malfoy?! I—I didn’t mean—oh god—”

He had shouted Sectumsempra. You remember the word, sharp and unfamiliar, slicing through the air just before everything went red. He didn’t know what it would do. You didn’t either.

You feel his hands, trembling, trying to lift you. Your head lolls against his chest as he cradles you in his lap, his robes soaking up your blood. You want to shove him away, curse him, scream—but you can’t. You’re too weak. The pain has stolen everything.

His arms tighten around you, desperate.

Harry: “I didn’t know what it would do—I swear—I didn’t know—”